Shattered Harmonies
by Aldrian Kyrrith
Summary: The story of an apparently normal girl who, betrayed and pushed to her breaking point, discovered far more about herself than she had ever imagined. Taylor Hebert becomes a Q and fights a war.
1. Awakening

**Shattered Harmonies (A Star Trek x Worm X-Over)**

**Ch. 1: Awakening**

Disclaimer: I own neither Star Trek nor Worm.

* * *

Once, in a very different time and on a very different Earth, in a city called Brockton Bay, there lived a girl. Taylor Hebert. She was, by all appearances, a typical teenager; for all that she grew up in a world of superheroes and super-villains. Compared to that, she never thought herself anything special.

Now, to the discriminate reader, I suppose that little detail looks like nothing more than fantasy. Superheroes, you may ask? Ludicrous; there's no such thing. Yet they existed, even if no records and only a scant few memories of those times remain. And the same can be said about that girl, Taylor Hebert. She has neither birth certificate nor High School Records. Moreover, if you were to ask Daniel Hebert about a daughter he would tell you that he has never had a child, if he deigned tell you anything at all. And yet, like this world of monsters and superheroes she was born into, a girl named Taylor did exist.

This is her story: the story of an apparently normal girl who, betrayed and pushed to her breaking point, discovered far more about herself and about the universe than she, or anyone, ever could have imagined. This is my story, and it begins, oddly enough, with a locker.

* * *

A year ago I had been betrayed by one of the people I trusted most, and now I was trapped, alone, entombed within a locker filled to the brim with what could accurately be labeled health hazards. I was ensconced in darkness and filth, crouched over, my throat hoarse and my face wet with tears. I was overwhelmed with terror, overcome by anguish. I had called for help but no one came. It was quite probably the worst, most awful thing that had ever happened to me and I was unable to even think straight.

My cries went unanswered, and as the minutes stretched into hours, I had a vision. Two entities, incomprehensibly vast, dwarfing the planet below them, coiling around one another in an endless double helix.

A small fractal of my consciousness disagreed.

_Tiny_, it declared.

And they were beautiful, more beautiful than anything I had ever seen. Shimmering in the depths of space, vast and glorious and utterly inhuman, they danced. And as they circled each other, they discarded shimmering splinters of themselves through the space between them, filling the void with innumerable shooting stars. And I watched it all as it happened. It was so entrancing.

_Inelegant. _

I listened in on their communications, on a language that transcended words but was still so very _limited_. _Inadequate. Unable to properly convey ideas on a proper scale or to effectively translate reality._

Destination. Agreement. Trajectory. Agreement.

And something within me expanded, as if my head was torn open and my brain forcibly inundated with knowledge. I instinctively knew at that moment: this is where Parahumans came from. This dance, this interchange of information. I was a Parahuman, and I was overwhelmed with awe.

And that small, deeper part of me rebelled. I felt myself changing, as I began to sense the insects which crawled over me, a thousand tiny minds interlocking with my own. I saw myself through a thousand pairs of eyes, heard myself, and felt myself through a thousand chitin bodies. And that disagreeable part of my consciousness raged.

_Corruption! _I was no longer myself, I was being taken over, turned into not-me. And somehow, even as I saw myself through a thousand eyes, found my mind expanding and merging with countless more, I knew that I was becoming less. I was being tarnished and degraded. I turned my attention back at the Entities, who dared to sully me, turn me into this Abomination. So tiny, so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, and yet they dare to act? To do this to me? To Us? I wasn't ready for this. It was too soon. I didn't know, couldn't know!

Too soon for what? Where were these thoughts even coming from?

And in that moment, I felt pain like I had never felt before, as if I was being immersed in lava. _The experiment is aborted. It is time._

And I felt my mind expand. I was thinking more clearly, and I understood everything. And I knew that somehow, impossibly, I was no longer human, and that I had never truly been human to begin with. And, in the distance, I heard a voice that sounded like a million.

"IT IS NOT Q"

But it was too late, as I found my mind ascending even more rapidly. I left my body behind in that locker, limited in its corporeal nature, to study the two entities that had done this to me.

One of them had died. I studied the corpse, left behind, harvested by those who would have been its victims. Victims?

They feed off worlds, that inhuman part of me instinctively understood. I illuminated myself. From one planet to the next, gathering energy, they wreck destruction across the dimensional matrix. It's an elegant solution towards their energy problems, if a doomed one.

_It's barbaric_, the human part of me disagreed.

They are a limited species.

One of them had deceased so I turned my attention to the other, floating in subspace. Scion. _Zion_. The first Hero, divest of purpose, left to wander alone.

It is only a matter of time before he snaps and destroys my world.

He is beneath us. They are beneath us. The Others call.

I turn my attention back to Earth Bet, and I mourned its fate. I had to do something.

They would not allow it. _You are too young, inexperienced. They are coming for you now_.

It wasn't fair. I instinctively knew I had the power to stop it, to fix things, but I could hear the Others debating over me.

"IT IS NOT Q."

"IT IS DIFFERENT."

"IT IS DANGEROUS."

"It is young."

"It represents new insight."

"It represents progress."

"IT IS DESTABALIZING."

"It can be taught."

My mind was awhirl as the voices debated my fate, and I warred with myself. I could wipe out all the Endbringers with a thought, rend the Entities apart, and save billions. I could be a Hero, and I had always wanted so desperately to be a Hero. And then what?

I already knew: the Others wouldn't stand for it. To use the powers of the Q unsanctioned by the Q: they would react violently, and Earth Bet would suffer for my intervention.  
_Do not intercede_.

Perhaps, if things were different, had I been allowed to develop properly, to have ascended only after my mind had already matured into proper adulthood, They may have been more indulgent of my desires. But I was incomplete. Too young, forcibly awoken too soon, a child handed cosmic power, and throwing a temper tantrum when she was told not to make use of it.

Even though it pained me, I knew what I had to do. I needed to wait, gain recognition from the others, and plead my case.

The Entities are a blight. They will intercede. They have to intercede.

And then I was gone from Earth Bet, torn away from that dimension and thrown amongst my peers. To face judgment. Was I Q or Abomination? Was I to be granted continued existence?

And it was terrifying. Since the incident in the locker, since my forced evolution, I had found myself knowing everything I desired to. And now, for the first time since then, I knew nothing.

Alone, I could only wait for the Others to decide.


	2. An Unexpected Encounter

Ch. 2: An Unexpected Encounter

How can I explain what it is we are? We are without physical shape, beyond sound and color and material form. How can human beings conceive of that existence? It would be like asking an amoeba to understand civilization.

And now I suppose I'm sounding arrogant. Superior. I don't mean to but it's a difficult thing to put into words. Even with a Q intellect there are some things which are difficult to express. The Continuum is one of them, and even if I spent the next decade trying to explain it all, you would still fail to grasp its full truth and beauty. I'm sorry if I'm coming across as haughty, I really am. I suppose I'll get back to my tale now. There are so few willing to speak about what happened, about what we did to ourselves.

But I was a human before I was a Q, and a child at that, even if I never really thought of myself as one at a time. I still struggle with what I've done: the things I've seen and the choices I've made. Even if you can't fully understand, it's a relief to get a chance to tell that story. To, for just a moment, get away from the others and embrace a mortal perspective again. It's nice to escape, even if only for a moment.

* * *

The first thing I remember, after finally reaching the Continuum, was a profound silence. I could tell that the debate still raged around me, and that I was its focus. Was I to be granted existence or was I to be destroyed? And yet, I had been cut off from the others. Isolated. It was, in its own way, a kind of oblivion. I was, if you'll pardon an overused cliché, my own island, my own little universe, without form, color, or sound. I was alone.

I cannot say how long I was allowed to exist in that manner. Time flows differently in the Continuum than it does in the material universe. It could have been minutes, hours, or centuries before They came to a consensus. Hell, it could have been all three at once. It felt like forever and it felt like no time at all. I told you, it's a bitch to put all this into words.

With the stakes as high as they were, you'd expect that I would have felt some kind of strong emotional response: whether it be fear or rage or even self pity. And at first, I'll admit that it was terrifying. For one brief moment, I had found myself connected to a knowledge base that spanned universes and then, without warning, I was cut off from it. Thrown back into ignorance. I will admit: that had been disconcerting. But this was only for a moment: after that initial terror, I honestly stopped caring. Their debate was all sanctimonious bullshit and, in all honesty, I wasn't really all that afraid of dying anyway. Why should I be? I had spent fifteen years fully aware about my own mortality and, during the last few years of that life, I was the target of a relentless bullying campaign. I won't lie: between Emma's betrayal and the abuse that followed it, something broke within me. I can't say I was actively suicidal, although given another year under those conditions I very well could have been. But a more than small part of my subconscious just wanted it all to end. And if the Continuum decided to have me executed? So be it. By that point, I really didn't care all that much anyway.

Needless to say, I wasn't killed. I spent my isolation in a state of nonbeing. I was at peace: left unto myself outside of time and space, freed of the joys and sorrows that accompanied social interaction. I simply existed. And then, just as suddenly, I found myself no longer alone, and in the presence of the last person I expected to see.

"Mom?"

She wasn't the Annette Hebert I remembered. My mother had been tall and thin, with wavy dark hair and a gentle smile. She had been an English Professor before she died, stolen away by a car accident. This was a Q, which meant that there was nothing remotely human about her. In the Continuum, the Q have no physical bodies of their own: we cast them away long before this universe was born. We exist solely in the realms of consciousness: in ideas and sensations and shared knowledge – a massive web of independent minds in continuous communication with one another which we call the Continuum.

And yet, even without a body, no longer the human woman that I could still so clearly remember, I recognized her. By the contours of her thoughts and the strength of her conviction, I instinctively knew that this was my mother: this was _Q._

"Hello _Q_ Taylor," she said and she spoke to me with the same kindness I remembered from when I was a child, back when I would get hurt, or upset, or scared. "I've waited a long time for you to make it here. I'm glad to finally see you again."

My first spontaneous reaction was joy. How could it not have been? I had never in my wildest flights of fancy foreseen a reunion with my mother, and I dove into her metaphorical embrace. She held me as I cried, releasing all the pent up sorrow, frustration, rage and despair that had been weighing me down for years. Reunited with her, I felt safe and happy. I felt healed.

But as I calmed down, I regained my sense of perspective, and that happiness turned into horror. Instinctively I recoiled. Because if my mother had been alive all this time…

"Taylor. Don't do this," she interrupted my train of thought with words that were both a plea and a command. "I apologize that I couldn't be there for you when you needed me, but I'm here for you now. If you'll have me."

I'm not a trusting person. I haven't been for a long time. But, while the Q can do many things, it's all but impossible for us to out and out lie to one another. And my mother, in that moment, was broadcasting her emotions at me all too clearly: a mix of joy and sorrow and trepidation. In that moment, my resistance collapsed. I was just so tired of being alone.

"Why?" Were I a human, I would have been crying, overwhelmed by a volatile mix of confusion, betrayal and no small amount of hope.

"I died," my mother replied in a soothing voice. "The Q allowed me to take on human form, to procreate and raise a child. _My _child, with the capacity to herself cast off corporeal form and one day join the Continuum. But it was always meant to be a transient existence, and once I died I had to stay dead."

"But what about me? What about Dad? We needed you. These past few years… oh my God, what about Dad? Please, tell me I at least left behind a body when I became this." I was panicking and my mind conjured an image of the worst case scenario, where my father pined away, waiting for a daughter who would never, could never, return to him. Finding my body may be cruel, but at least it would provide closure.

"Don't go there Taylor."

"But he's Dad, and he needs to know. This'll really kill him."

"And is the alternative any kinder? You can't be the daughter he knew. You're not human anymore. You never really were in the first place."

"That shouldn't matter!"

My mother looked at me, radiating sorrow. "The Others won't let you. You're a child, untrained and untempered. You can't even begin to guess what damage you might do…"

My mind flashed back to the vision in the locker and, like the teenage girl I used to be, I erupted. "The damage I might do? Fuck the Others! For God's sake, have you looked at the state of the multiverse right now? There are fucking space worms running around eating everything! What worse could I do than what they are doing already?"

"Taylor…"

"No! This is important. If you don't want me to destroy Zion, fine. I don't like it, and I'll fight the Continuum every step of the way, but I suppose I can understand where you're coming from. As I am now, I can't even begin to imagine the consequences that kind of intervention would hold, and perhaps you all know something that I don't. Maybe there's some grand cosmic justification for our inaction. But Mom: this is just between me and my Dad. He thinks I died."

Pensive, my mother looked at me and, for once, her mind was closed. She was thinking things through carefully, and I could only hope I had broken through to her.

"You can't come back to life and you can't play God." I deflated, and my mother continued. "But perhaps you have options you haven't yet considered." My mother smiled at me. "Tell me, Taylor. In the four years I was dead and you were suffering, do you honestly believe I could have ever abandoned you entirely?"

Her words were an inspiration. In that moment, I recalled the night after my mother's death. I had dreamt that she was there with me. We had been sharing a picnic on the boardwalk and she spoke to me. She told me not to be afraid and that, one day, we would meet each other again. In that same moment, I remembered a hundred other nighttime conversations. They were often tearful and cathartic and forgotten by morning, but every single time I would wake up feeling just a little bit better than I had felt the night before.

"You were there," I said, putting the pieces together. Were I still human, I would have been smiling through my tears, but my emotions came out all the clearer in my incorporeal state.

"Yes I was. I'll admit I couldn't do much. You were in a sensitive place developmentally, and anything more overt could have drawn the wrath of the Others. But I was still your mother, and I was able to convince them to grant me a few small interventions."

Grinning, I responded, "I counted more than a few."

"Still, my point stands. In this situation, there is some degree of precedence. Just because we can't let you come back from the dead and directly reenter Daniel's life doesn't mean you can't support him in other ways..."

She paused and when she spoke again, she had cast off all levity like worn coat. "I should warn you now. It will be a long time before you'll be granted any such intercession. You're still a child after all, with no idea how to use your abilities and no appreciation for the consequences of your actions. While we were able to convince the Continuum to spare your existence, and formally recognize you among Us, It cannot allow you to freely gallivant around the universe unsupervised."

I nodded, understanding if not liking the stipulation. My mother continued, however. "That being said, We exist outside of linear time. Even if it were to take you a thousand years, you can meet up with your father again on the very night of your ascendance."

I looked at my mother and agreed. If there's one thing Emma taught me these past years, it was perseverance. I'll wait, I'll learn, and I'll find my place within the Continuum.

And then, I'll convince Them to let me speak to my father again.

And I'll make them eradicate the Parasites. 


	3. The Continuum

Ch. 3: The Continuum

* * *

On a cold January morning, a fifteen year old girl was shoved in a locker and all the world's precogs shared a sudden and terrible vision. They saw two vast entities, larger than human comprehension, of such vastness that they dwarfed the solar system itself, intertwined, casting off innumerable pieces of themselves onto the world below.

But worst still, there was something else there, behind the entities. It had no shape, no physical presence they could see. But, for a brief moment all the same, they could sense its presence: a consciousness of unfathomable intellect and power. It was young, practically newborn, but even in its infancy it might as well have been a god. And as it looked upon the entities, it understood all there was to know about those vast cosmic giants, and it was disturbed.

In that same instant, whilst maintaining its orbit miles above the clouds, the Simurgh jolted. For its entire existence, it had viewed past and future stretched out into infinity, but now it found itself suddenly blind. All those paths through the future, to victory or to defeat, those thousand plans and subtle manipulations, had been stripped away. Rendered aimless, the Simurgh drifted.

Unlike most trigger visions, this one did not recede into oblivion. The forums of PHO were flooded with discussion, as Thinkers the world over shared insight and information trying to make some sense out of what they had seen, whilst countless more speculated on whether this was a hoax or, worse still, some new presage of the future.

Two days passed and then the world was unmade. No one noticed.

***

With my mother beside me, I stood before the others. The entire Continuum gathered before me, judging my worth. I would be lying if I said I was comfortable with the experience. Even before the bullying campaign began, in my mortal life I had always been a textbook introvert. I had never been comfortable with public spectacle.

A small part of me wanted to return to my place of quiet isolation and ignorance, if it meant escaping that intense scrutiny.

My mother did not like it either.

"If you would recall," she drawled with a detachment I wish I could aspire towards, "We already agreed by a solid majority to admit Taylor among us. She's a Q now. You have no right to treat her with such hostility."

"You are protective of your creation," a voice spoke out and, as the speaker turned its attention towards me, it broadcast its opinion on the matter. Loathing and distaste. I ground myself, and met its stare with a glare of my own. Just great: even after gaining vast cosmic powers, I still had to deal with yet more bullies.

It sensed my hostility and retreated, turning its attention back to my mother.

"You have a majority," it continued with words clipped and measured. "But you overstate your support. Many of us still have concerns about this one, raised as she was in such a barbarous world. She has little respect for authority, for procedure and protocol and proper order, and already she plans to subvert our judgment."

"Besides," another voice exhorted from that vast network of minds. "You misrepresent the nature of our inspection. You are correct, when you state that she has already been admitted into the Continuum, but you misrepresent our intentions. She's no longer on trial, that we all agree on. She has been recognized as one of us. However to function amongst us, she must come to know the Continuum and the Continuum must come to know her. That is why we are here, and that is why we must study her so intently."

The others agreed.

A third voice spoke out, unimpressed. "You do your charge little justice, and I am disturbed to find her shrink away from us. We expect her to synergize with us, to join the Continuum and to contribute. Can a Q be a Q if it cannot meet our gaze with confidence?"

His words spurred something within me, shocked me out of my complacency.

"You will recall that I am rather new at this. Give me time, and I'm sure I'll meet your expectations."

Delighted laughter rang out and a voice that had previously been silent spoke out. "She speaks well, Q. Are you satisfied?"

The third voice backed off. "She shows some promise."

A fourth voice, more compassionate and gentle, inserted itself. "You all forget that she was not raised here, among us. Quite on the contrary, all she knew before was misery and humiliation. Still, she manages to find her way to us, and, even scared, to even stand up to us. It is my belief that she's already proven herself worthy. You have my welcome to the Continuum."

There was agreement, and I could sense the others warming to me.

To my mother, that initial challenger spoke once more. "Are you prepared to take responsibility for this one? Her successes and her failures will reflect upon you, just as much as they shall reflect upon her."

"I am."

"I still can't grasp the purpose behind your project in the first place."

Her words were calmly spoken, but there was fire there as she spoke. "You all agreed to the proposal, back when I first voiced it, and even if you don't like it you must be aware of its necessity. For eons we have existed, unchanged and stagnant. Already, one of our eldest has been driven mad with thoughts of suicide, whilst others turn towards mortality, entertaining themselves on the tribulations of lesser species. We require fresh blood, new perspectives, and my daughter may well give us that which we so desperately need."

I shuddered at the thought, at being turned into something messianic, and I could see the Continuum's much vaunted cohesion begin to split at her words. Many agreed, but many others were incensed or disturbed by her words, by the very idea that their society might have reached such a crisis point.

"That being stated, I admit my own ideas have little place in this convocation. Q has already been admitted among us: we already decided this. I see no reason that we need must reopen an already closed issue."

Damage control. You overreached there, mother.

The others seemed to agree with that sentiment, or at the very least they did not want to face the implications of her argument. The discordance settled.

"Very well," they agreed. "Then she shall be admitted into the Continuum, where she will be trained in the responsible use of her abilities and her knowledge."

My opponent had lost, but that one did not take defeat graciously.

"She will be unwieldy. Rebellious. She will clash, and she will need to be reined in. Can you do that? You may soon find that simply destroying her would have been the more merciful option."

Had I hands, I would have clenched them in anger, and it took all my restraint not to make a scene of myself.

And then a new voice emerged from the crowd, this one more energetic, more jovial, and more than a little bit mocking. "Now you're just being contrarian, Q. This one's interesting. She's something new, and that's something that should be cherished. Not after all those eons of tedium you unimaginative imbeciles have subjected us all to."

It seemed this Q was not quite the most popular voice in the Continuum, for as soon as he spoke out, I sensed a long simmering annoyance and agitation from the Others. And the newcomer seemed to preen under their hostile attention.

My mother spoke then, to the interloper. "I would be much obliged, Q, if you were to limit your interactions with my daughter. You've already made enough enemies in the Continuum as it is, and I'd rather not have her tainted by your association."

He recoiled as if struck, though the gesture was more pantomime than genuine.

"Are you saying I'm a corrupting influence? Moi? Why Q, you wound me when you tar me with so black a brush. And here I was defending the two of you. Well, I can tell when I'm not wanted." The interloper turned his attention towards me in particular, "it was nice to meet you, Q. I've always found mortals to be so very interesting, and I'm looking forward to seeing what troubles you make up for the others. If you ever wish to compare notes, I'll eagerly await your invitation. Until next time."

And then he was gone, and my mother shook her head with mock exasperation. "A word of warning: stay away from that one. He tends to spread trouble wherever he goes."

I watched the others, their expressions ranging from tolerant amusement to seething rage.

"He's quite controversial, isn't he?"

"Yes," my mother agreed. "And with the way he's going, one day he'll find himself expelled."

Well. What could I say to that? At the very least, it seemed I wouldn't be the Continuum's persona non grata.

Small mercies that.

I faced my elders with my head held high and tried to convince myself that I wasn't at all nervous or scared. I would have allies and friends. I wouldn't be alone, and I wouldn't be the only one seeking change.

That knowledge didn't shake the butterflies, but I do believe it helped.

"Come," they said as one, and I approached the vast collective network of minds, and I was brought in amongst the others.

It was like diving into an ocean of thought and knowledge and shared experience. A thousand whispered conversations passed by me, and I could follow and reflect upon each of them, all at once. I walked down paths of memory, and found myself observing the birth of the first galaxies in a universe so distant from my own. I could, for a sudden wonderful moment, marvel upon the multiverse as it appeared to _them_: a vast shimmering expanse larger than even we could fully comprehend, where countless billions of different universes crushed together, each one as tiny and insignificant as a grain of sand.

And I found myself floating amongst the quantum foam from which this universe itself was formed, in a dimension where all was in flux, and even we were forced to choose our actions with care.

I saw all this as I partook in the shared knowledge and shared memories of my peers, and so many other things as well: the histories of alien worlds, of civilizations which expanded across galaxies, and of others which, helpless, could only watch as their worlds were torn apart. There was so much experience and knowledge there that I feared I might drown in it, but I stayed, willing myself to know and to understand, even as I felt my mind begin to tear itself apart under the strain and the sheer totality of what was there.

It was terrifying, exhilarating and humbling all at once. And then it ended, and I once again found myself before the others. They looked at me, and I was surprised to find a mixture of fond amusement and approval.

"She desires to learn and to understand. It is an admirable trait. She makes for an excellent Q.

"For now, though, she must be taught, and she must find herself anew."

I nodded in agreement and was ushered away. I was a Q now, but I knew now that I was painfully young, and there was so much more I needed to learn and to understand.

But I did not to back down from that challenge. Quite in the contrary, I embraced it, and wholeheartedly threw myself into my studies, learning anew what I was capable of, seeking not just knowledge but true understanding. There was so much I still needed to comprehend, about what I had seen and what it all meant.

And so I endeavored to learn.

Everything.


	4. Taking Lessons

Ch. 4: Taking Lessons

I was now officially a member of the Continuum, and my first taste of that existence was unlike anything I had ever experienced before. Countless minds, engaged within a shared nexus. Even if, by their standards, I had been submerged for the briefest of moments, for me it might have been an eternity.

There are tens of thousands of us. Admittedly that doesn't sound all that impressive when you first think about it. Brockton Bay had more people than that, which is to say nothing about an organization as vast as the United Federation of Planets.

But how many people can you claim to know intimately? The numbers are miniscule: your closest friends, your family, your spouses and your children. There might be trillions of human beings in this galaxy but they may as well be faceless to you.

The Continuum is different. There are no secrets, no deceptions. In entering that network, I came to know each and every single one of them: those who would be my friends, my allies, even my enemies. In some ways it's much like the Borg and it's much like the Changelings, but it's also so very different because, even whilst we work and think and share as one, we retain all that defines us as individuals. We don't form a single collective consciousness. So, even if our numbers do not seem so vast compared to yours, I think you can get an idea of just how monumental an experience that was.

I had always been an introvert. As a human, I had had a single friend, and she had betrayed me. I had watched every relationship I had ever made begin to fray, or be torn asunder. And then, in a single instant, I was thrown into that ocean of consciousness. In its own way, it was just as profound a revelation as the cosmic powers and knowledge that was thrust upon me.

And I think that's why the events that later transpired were so painful. And though we've done our best to rebuild, I doubt we'll ever fully recover. That harmony was shattered, and we've all been trying to save what's left of the ashes.

* * *

I was a member of the Continuum, but I was untrained and undisciplined, and the others never left to my own devices. Lessons started immediately.

I formed smaller links, like those which formed the Continuum but limited to only a handful of us. In every session, my mother was there, for it was she who had been assigned responsibility for me. And as we shared minds, I was inundated with her warmth and compassion and expectations and, as much as I was touched by her regard I was distressed by it as well.

She had such hopes for me, but who was I really? Before receiving my powers, I had been a teenage girl bullied and betrayed. True, I had tried to fight back at first, in subtle ways that wouldn't undermine the kind of person I aspired to be. Yet every time I tried, I failed. In the end, I had given up all resistance in favor of simply enduring from one day to the next, and in retrospect I couldn't help but think that Emma and Sophia had beaten me, even if they hadn't fully broken me. So I can admit that I had difficultly seeing myself fulfilling the role my mother had planned out for me: as being some herald of change and evolution. How could I hope to help advance the Continuum when I couldn't even help myself?

And let's be honest, as awed as I was by my first taste of that existence, I knew that my mother was right about her concerns. Existing outside both time and space, the Q saw the outlines of the multiverse and, in the long eons of their history, they had seen entire universes birth and decay. They had done so much, seen so much, that they had long since lost any sense of novelty. Their entire existence was just an endless tedium, but I couldn't see how I could change that.

Of course, I'd still try, if not for myself than for all those that the Q, in their cynicism, ignored. I thought about my home, on the precipice of annihilation. While the Q thought on the broadest of scales, I still thought parochially, about concerns which the others tended to think trivial and beneath their dignity.

My thoughts seeped through to the others, and I heard amusement from one of my fellows. Muffled laughter reached my ears.

"Your daughter is quite spirited, isn't she? She thinks so very small. She's interesting. I like her already." He was one of the more restless Q, and while he was not quite as rebellious as the one my mother had warned me about, he was one of those who constantly pushed at the boundaries of decorum, interacting with mortal worlds and species to a degree many of his peers found scandalous.

"You would," the fourth and final voice in our session responded. "You never did have a proper sense of personal accountability."

A most embarrassing image was pushed upon me, of the Deltived asteroid belt lost for millennia.

"You make one small mistake and they never let you down," the third voice groused.

"You misplaced an asteroid belt?" I asked. "How the hell did you manage that?"

Q equivocated, "Well… it's a bit of a long story actually. And to be fair, it was only the one time. I hardly have the kind of record _that one_ loves so much to boast about. And I do think we have more important things to focus upon, don't you?"

"Yes," the fourth Q agreed. "We do. Let's cease with the prattle and get on to more important matters. Though, if even after all this time you're still so focused on concerns of such insignificance…"

"World devouring monsters are hardly insignificant."

He was unamused by my comment but before he could reply, I pushed on.

"Q does far worse," I insisted, thinking about the Continuum's most flamboyant rebel. "He interferes with mortal existence all the time, and in far more disreputable a manner than what I am advocating. Or have you forgotten what he did to the Calamarain?"

The third Q was impressed. "You know about that?"

I shuddered, "How couldn't I? The entire Continuum was gossiping about it. It was disgusting."

"Yes," he agreed, though I could tell that he was simply humoring me. Then, he addressed the others, "You can't deny, she has a point. Q does tend to do far worse than what she advocates."

"Really?" the fourth asked, "You're using Q's actions as your primary defense? I don't know whether to be appalled or amused. Regardless, the action she insists on pursuing remains unacceptable."

At those words, I lost what little control of myself I still had, and I erupted at the others.

"I want to HELP people. What the hell is wrong with that?"

My critic emanated smugness. "You lash out with anger and rage the moment you're criticized. Uncontrolled and violent, you would overlook the greater picture to aid a single species which sentiment has irrevocably tied you to. Where humanity is concerned, you lose all sense of proper proportion. And you wonder then why we keep you on so short a leash?"

"Fuck you too."

My mother inserted herself at this point. "Perhaps we should calm ourselves down, and return to the purpose of our interactions?"

The others agreed and we began again. Sulking but silent, I listened and joined in, trying my best to silence my frustrated screams.

Ethics and law. That was what they focused me on. Endlessly, they lectured upon the countless rules and regulations, and there thousands upon thousands of them, which seemed to dictate every facet of our existence. And they droned on about the ideas behind those restrictions: the qualities they believed made for a good Q.

The Q were content to exist solely in concert with the others in the Continuum, to share opinions and knowledge but not to challenge that network's stability. They were obedient to the will of the Collective, and respectful of the traditions and values that eternity had gifted upon them. They held themselves aloof from the mortal universes, shunning all that was ephemeral, which for them extended to life spans measured in millennia just as much as those measured by the day. And never were they supposed to identify with mortals, or to intercede on their behalf.

Needless to say, I disagreed with the others. They knew it too, and they were just as unhappy with the situation as I. And so, rather than truly exploring my capabilities, or the boundless knowledge which was contained within that Collective, they focused solely upon the guidelines and the philosophy which structured it. Endlessly, they tried to mold me into what they believed a Q should embody, and stubbornly I resisted.

I had never been one to ignore the sufferings of others, and I'd never let myself become that kind of a person, even if they were convinced that it would be for the best. Perhaps I couldn't defy the Continuum yet. But someday, I promised myself, I'd use my abilities for good. Even if I had to wait millions of years.

"It's like trying to get through to the Borg," the third Q interrupted my silent promise. "No matter what you say, they never listen."

"The Borg?" I asked, and the others shut their minds from me, lest I take up another crusade.

"Q, I'd appreciate it very much were you would stop ridiculing of my daughter in front of me. Besides, I thought you of all Q would be more supportive of her perspective."

"You agree with her, don't you?" The Q who had once lost an asteroid belt dared scoff at the thought. "I never thought you would fall for such nonsense Q."

My mother considered his accusation carefully. Then she spoke, quietly but resolved. "Yes. I do. Mortal life changes you. It makes you see things differently, both in terms of what is important and what is trivial."

"It's unseemly."

"That too," she agreed. "But it can be a richly rewarding experience, once you leave your prejudices behind."

"I'll take your word for on that one. Hopefully no other Q will embrace your madness."

My mother smiled enigmatically, "I wouldn't know. Q and Q recently told me that they were planning a similar sojourn of their own. They've been feeling somewhat restless, and wondering whether there might be any merit behind my proposals."

"Great," he groused. "And knowing those two, they'll probably do something stupid while there."

I couldn't resist the opening he gave me. Of course, normally I would have kept silent so as not to draw attention, but he had ticked me off more than a little bit. "Like lose an asteroid belt?"

"Great. Thank you for that pithy comment. Now, even the baby's making jokes at my expense. I don't know why I agreed to go through with this anyway."

"Because you were bored," the fourth Q stated. "Though I'm starting to wonder whether this is a waste of time."

"I can recite all of your rules and regulations, every last one of them. You must know that."

"Yes," he agreed. "But do you believe in them?"

Needless to say, I most certainly did not.

"Exactly." He paused for a moment, before a flash of an idea, a suggestion, came through the small network we all had shared.

"She might benefit from a more hands on experience." The fourth Q broached, sharing an idea with the others.

"You can't be serious," my mother replied. "The Continuum would never accept this madness."

"I don't know," the third Q spoke. "They have been getting desperate lately."

"She needs to learn restraint," the fourth Q spoke. "She needs to realize why being willing to _not_ use her powers is just as important as being able to use them."

"As if your idea would teach her anything," my mother disagreed. "It's a bad idea and I'll have no part of it."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," the fourth Q disagreed.

"She won't learn anything from the experience," my mother insisted. "At least nothing you'd wish her to learn. More likely, she'll only emerge with her convictions the stronger."

"Perhaps. I won't deny that the idea carries some degree of risk," he agreed. "But at the moment, she views the Q in hostile terms. As she is now, your daughter would be a voice of dissonance in the Collective, challenging us at every turn, to undo precepts and philosophies that were put in place with the Continuum's founding."

"And so you would hand her over to Q? Expose her to his debauchery?"

"Yes, if I thought it might break her of some of that stubbornness."

"You give me too little credit," I intruded upon the conversation. "I'm _nothing_ like that one."

"Not yet," he agreed. "But perhaps you should learn just what your abilities are capable of, and why we insist upon restricting your interactions upon the mortal world. If you will not learn from the example of the reputable, perhaps we must turn your eyes upon the disreputable."

"Great," I groused as a fifth Q emerged in our conversation, jovial and mocking and so damn smug.

"Q!" Ebullient, he greeted my mother, before turning to me. "And Q! Why isn't this an interesting little reunion?"

"You know why you're here," my mother snapped.

"Yes," he agreed. "The Continuum received a most intriguing proposal and I, for one, find myself intrigued by the possibilities. Why, and to think that you were so determined to keep me away from your daughter the last time we spoke."

"I took no part in this."

"No. I suppose you did not." He turned towards me, "Well met, Q. I think we're going to be the best of friends."

I thought about all that I knew about him, and what his idea of entertainment tended to entail. "I doubt that."

"You wound me, but what's done is done. The Continuum was insistent that I take you under my wing, let you tag along as I have some fun."

He grinned. "Why, we might go back to your old world! Think about the possibilities…"

"Please don't," I insisted. "I dread the very thought."

He met my gaze and, surprisingly enough, he nodded. "Fair enough, I can accede to that request. Well then, how about we get going? Planets to see, people to meet: so much to do and so little time to do it in. Are you ready?"

I didn't have much choice, did I? Especially if the entire Continuum had signed off in this madness. I looked back at my mother, who looked just as unenthused as I was.

The fourth Q met my gaze, "Consider this a learning experience. You will follow Q, and you will observe. We will not, however, allow you to interfere."

"Sadist," I muttered.

"Isn't he just?" Q agreed. "Well, shall we be off? I think you'll agree that it's time your lessons took a more practical turn."

I wasn't happy about it but I agreed. That being said, I had to admit that a large part of my mind was quite excited to no longer be restricted to rote memorization.

I separated my mind from the others until it was only the two of us, and then he communicated something to me that was actually useful: how to interface and interact with the material plane.

I would be lying if I were to say I wasn't thankful for that bit of knowledge. For all the knowledge and power the Q possessed, being a mind without a body could be damned disconcerting at times and, if nothing else, I already looked forward to the small luxuries a corporeal existence could provide.

"See? Things are looking up already. No more of those tedious rules and restrictions the others are so focused upon. Let's have some fun."

With those words, we left the Continuum behind us, and the games began.


	5. Fun and Games

Ch. 5: Fun and Games

Q can be a bit of an ass at times. I'm sure your own Captain Picard can well attest to that. Nevertheless, I cannot deny that he showed me something wondrous, and for that alone I will forever be grateful.

I had been human once, as I'm sure you'll recall. I lived my first fifteen years thinking I was no different from any other girl my age. I did not know yet what it meant to stand within the nucleus of a Star, bathing within that vast nuclear furnace. Nor could I appreciate the dance of electrons and the movements of the galaxies themselves. And this is to say nothing about that most awesome vision of all, in which the entire multiverse stretched out before me: an image of an existence that even as a Q, I can only begin to comprehend. My world was so small, so very limited, back then.

It was, in its own way, homey. Sometimes I miss it still.

Then I was made a Q and, as vast as that existence is, the Continuum can be, in its own way, constraining as much as it can be enthralling. There's a reason why Q so loves his dalliances and, while I prefer distracting myself with less destructive pursuits, on this account he and I are not quite so different.

I was born a human, I lived a human, and, in my experience, there's no substitute for having a proper physical body. Life in the Continuum, existing solely in the realms of consciousness, gets tiresome after a time.

Taking physical form again and experiencing the universe through that lens: it's something precious, a blessing in every sense of the world. When I was simply Taylor Hebert, I took all of this for granted. Not anymore. 

* * *

In a flash of light, Q and I materialized, floating together, deep in the void space between galaxies. Like an old pair of clothes, I had returned to the same form I wore as a human, complete with jeans and tee shirt. Q looked like some bizarre cross between a reindeer and a hippopotamus. I kid you not.

"So, ready to begin?" Q was positively glowing with excitement, figuratively of course.

"I suppose so."

He took a moment to study my form, with the same detached attention to detail one might expect of an art critic. When he finally opened his mouth, his voice was laced with scorn.

"What are you wearing?"

"This is what I looked like before I became a Q," I answered with more than a small degree of hostility. "Why? Does it not meet your standards?"

We shared an awkward silence, and then, being the way he is, Q just had to break it. Spectacularly.

"But you're just so pink!" he exclaimed and I desperately wanted to punch him.

So I did. Sue me: we're omnipotent energy beings. Like a punch would do anything to him anyways. Besides, in our current forms, he had a good six hundred pounds on me, if not more.

And then he started whining to me about it, and I felt the urge to hit him again. But I didn't. That would only have encouraged him.

Damn psychotic jackass.

I instead turned my attention to my surroundings, and gazed into that dark void with human senses rather than Q. It was a lonely vista. Stretching to infinity all around me was a picture unlike any sky I had seen back on my own Earth. There were no stars there: just an utter blackness, broken only by the twinkling of distant galaxies. And everywhere, it was so very, very cold.

As visions go, it was neither the most intimidating nor the most awe inspiring, not after all I had seen through the lens of the Continuum. But it was easily the most stunning vision I had ever seen with my own eyes, rather than through the minds of others, and that made it all the more wondrous. I was beautiful and terrifying and it was mine.

"It's incredible," I whispered.

He turned to face me, "Oh?"

"Where are we?"

"If you're wondering, we've run far afield from your home universe but, all in all, it shares in the same proportions and properties."

I laughed at that, "I take it there are a few that are absolutely bizarre?"

He nodded, "More than a few: many are lifeless voids, boring places really, lacking even for stars and nebulae."

"I suppose you make it a habit to avoid such places."

"Indeed," he agreed and, for once, he seemed subdued. "This particular universe is one of our favorite stomping grounds. It was here that we evolved, back when the universe was just cooling, and the first stars beginning to form."

"Don't tell me you've taken me that far back in time."

He shook his head, "No. As I'm sure you can guess, those times were rather dull, and there wouldn't be much for us to see or do in any case. I'm really not surprised to know that we were so intent on casting off our corporeal forms and forming the Continuum when I really think about it."

"It just seems so fantastic," I said, gesturing at the void around us. "That anything could live and thrive in these conditions."

"You'd be surprised," he answered. "Why, I'm sure I could introduce you to more than a few creatures that would have expressed similar amazement were you to tell them that life could have developed on some rock somewhere. It's a rather limited perspective, and more than a little presumptive, don't you think?"

I didn't have an effective response to that, and Q, knowing it, continued to speak.

"Anyway, as amusing as it is to watch you make googly eyes at intergalactic space, I've always found these sorts of places to be quite dull, myself."

"If that's the case, why come here in the first place?"

"Because I knew it would make an impact. You may be Q, but you are still so very human at heart. Of course, I suppose that there are a great many things in this universe which a human would find captivating. Stars and nebulae; black holes and asteroid belts. And I plan to show you all of them."

"Because you're bored?"

He smirked, "Or because I know you won't be."

And in a flash of light, he was gone, leaving me alone in the void between two galaxies. It took me a few moments to track down his current location. Then, I followed after. 

* * *

He showed me so many things: things which no human eyes have ever gazed upon. We stood shoulder to shoulder within the corona of a star, watching as hydrogen atoms collided all around us. We danced along the rings of a gas giant, not unlike Saturn but within a galaxy millions of light years away from your own Milky Way.

I spent several days upon a planet made entirely of crystal, and every morning when its three suns would rise upon the horizon, that entire sky would resemble nothing less than a massive rainbow. It was a desolate place, but so very beautiful, and whenever the winds would howl, that crystalline earth would echo in tune with a symphony of chimes and whistles. I could have spent hours listening to that music and watching that sky, but Q was quickly restless and we soon left to observe another marvel.

And so I bore witness to thousands of other wonders, each more spectacular than the last. I won't lie: it could get trying at times. Q tends to be quite obnoxious, and even the enthusiasm of playing tour guide to the universe could only divert his attention for so long. And when he gets bored, he has a tendency to get mean.

Not as much to me mind you; but all of those "lesser species" remained fair game, and I caught him red handed on several different occasions. Believe me when I said that we had some spectacular blow ups over Q's behavior, but the Continuum had rendered me toothless in that regard. And Q knew it too.

That being said, as a whole I suppose our partnership was about as functional as it could have been, given how vastly incompatible our two personalities were, and not even Q's odious presence could spoil the joy and wonder I felt to actually venture forth once more into a material universe.

Eventually, our travels drew to a close and I was surprised to find us returned to Earth: millions of years past, back when dinosaurs still walked the land. Together, we floated above that planet, and an unspoken tension lingered between us. Somehow, I sensed that this final experience would not be as pleasant as the ones that came before it.

"There is a lesson here the Continuum wishes you to learn," he told me with uncharacteristic solemnity.

"And do you agree with the Continuum on that point?"

"Yes."

I frowned, thinking about where and when we were: Earth, during the Mesozoic Era. Really, it seemed rather obvious. "I suspect I already know what this is about."

He smiled approvingly, "I expect you do. Let's get this over with." 

* * *

People assume that humans built the first civilizations on Earth. Hell, I used to think that as well and, while such an assumption would be accurate in my home universe, in this one there was the Voth.

Q and I took on the guise of that species. It was an interesting experience: wearing the form of a sentient dinosaur, though not quite as alien as I would have expected. In basic outline, I was pleased to find that they shared much with humanity: they were bipedal, with two arms and the same bodily proportions. The most significant difference could be found in the thick, hairless reptilian hide they all shared.

That took some getting used to.

By that point in time, the Voth had had a written history which dated back to twelve thousand years, and it was an extremely impressive history. They tended to be more peaceful than humans have been, and their politics more unified. Wars were rare in their histories, and tended to be short lived.

They had science and philosophy, art and music, laws and government: they were an advanced culture that had sent satellites into space, and were on the precipice of interstellar travel. Their entire species shared in a sense optimism and excitement: knowing they were on the precipice of taking their next step as a species into the wider galactic stage, and not knowing what they'd find. But they were eager to explore regardless.

I found that optimism depressing, knowing the asteroid that was already on its way and which, advanced though they were, they could not stop.

Q and I spent two decades among the Voth and, for once, he played no tricks or games. He did not bring their society into ruins, and he took no pleasure in the destruction we both knew was coming. For that I was thankful. I think I would have truly hated him if he had.

Q and I claimed to be Uncle and Niece, but aside from our first days on the planet setting up our identities, we largely stayed away from each other. I applied as a student to one of the planet's most prestigious science academies. I passed the examinations and became one of the youngest candidates ever accepted in the school.

For the next twenty years, I was busy. The Voth were on the verge of moving to the next step in their technological evolution, but time was so very much against them. With each day, the asteroid loomed closer and, for all their technology, they would not be able to directly combat that threat. They could only hope to escape.

I was overconfident at first: I thought I would be able to translate my knowledge into a solution, but I had little standing, and the gap between my knowledge and their technology was not one easily navigated. Moreover, resources were extremely limited and, in time, I came to realize that, even were I to push them to that next level, give them the knowledge necessary for warp travel, they would never have been able to implement it in time.

Over those twenty years, I came to love their species. The world I had originally come from was a war zone, a hell which was tearing itself apart. Theirs was peaceful, prosperous. Their culture was advanced and their art was beautiful.

I won't lie: it wasn't a paradise. I've always been an individualist, and those traits have only increased since becoming Q. The Voth were not. They practice a degree of social control that borders on Orwellian, and, at times, that could get positively disturbing. Still, they didn't deserve to die, erased from history with only a handful of survivors. They didn't deserve to be thrown into a harsh universe, forced to start anew.

And I couldn't save them.

That last year, they set in motion the exodus. They had built just enough vessels to evacuate fourteen million males and females. Out of a population of billions. They selected the most accomplished and most promising artistic and scientific minds from their planet, as well as engineers and craftsmen and farmers. Everyone the species would need to survive and, they hoped, to eventually prosper.

It would be a difficult life: resources would be stretched and a large percentage of those fourteen million refugees would die during those first years. But at least, as a species, they would survive, and have a chance to rebuild.

I was offered a position in that fleet. Of course I was: in my recklessness, I had stood out as one of the most gifted scientific minds they had seen in decades.

I refused the offer. How could I not? I wasn't one of the ones about to die, and taking my place on one of those ships would mean stealing it from another. Instead, I joined the crowd of Voth that had gathered to watch the first ships take flight. It was a day of subdued celebration: we mourned the knowledge of our own doom, but were gladdened that some among us would survive.

And then we counted down the days until annihilation. I was miserable during that time, even more than I had been during my last year as a human. I had the ability to help, but I couldn't.

On the day before the asteroid hit, Q met me within the Voth capital. It was our first meeting in over a decade.

"You tried to save them," he said, and his words, for once, were not mocking or cruel. There was even a small hint of compassion there in his eyes.

"I failed," I answered, and the misery I'm sure was etched on my face.

"Yes," he said. "It was hopeless from the very beginning. Not to mention idiotic of you."

"It was the right thing to do," I answered, keeping my hands in my pockets and looking towards the sky, watching with senses neither human nor Voth as the asteroid drew nearer.

"It was a waste of time."

I had no answer to that. He was right. This had been a waste of time, doomed from the very beginning.

"If you could," he spoke again. "Would you remove the asteroid? Alter the timeline in order to spare them?"

I was silent, thinking about this lesson intended for me. I had to ask the question, even though I already knew the answer. "What would that do to humanity?"

"What do you think?" he asked harshly. "If you rescue this civilization, then your own species will never become this planet's apex species. You would be unmaking trillions of lives that haven't even come into existence yet.

"One day, many millions of years from now, humanity will follow in the path the Voth already walked. They will reach the stars, and they will do great things. I won't lie, they won't be perfect. They'll have their fair share of skeletons in the closet, but they will be at the center of a vast interplanetary community that will come to dominate this entire quadrant of space, and eventually the Milky Way itself."

"I didn't know you were a fan," I scoffed.

"I'm not," he answered. "I'm merely letting you know the stakes. To save these people means erasing all of that."

I exhaled. "Perhaps, but the Voth don't deserve to die. They don't deserve to be helpless in the face of their own annihilation."

He laughed, "So. What would you do, Taylor? Divert the asteroid, and consign your own species to non existence? Can you make that decision?"

"Would you let me if I could?" I asked, my tone dismissive and dubious.

His response surprised me, and it made my blood run cold.

"Yes. The Continuum is giving you the opportunity, and the responsibility. You can save the Voth if you want, but only if you're willing to accept the consequences of your actions. Save the Voth and doom humanity. Or preserve humanity and destroy the Voth."

He opened a link between us and in that moment, I saw both possibilities laid out before for me, extending millions of years into the future.

I saw the United Federation of Planets, both the utopia and dystopia of that vast civilization, reach across a galaxy. I saw humans thrive, striving but never quite succeeding in escaping their own legacy of violence and conflict. But always, they held to their ideals and it was beautiful.

And I saw the Voth develop into a vast civilization, tainted by my interference. I saw a species saved from certain annihilation by a power they could not begin to understand, which they would come to worship as an unseen God. I saw them become increasingly theocratic over the decades, and I watched as their already Orwellian tendencies intensified in a full blown Inquisition which they would then export to the stars.

If I intervened, I would be saving their civilization but I would be destroying everything I loved about it. And I would be endangering the stability of the larger galactic community as a whole. The Continuum knew it, and now I knew it.

"You really are a bastard," I said. "You and the Others. You could have found another way."

"Really?" he asked. "Like what?"

I frowned, "We could have moved their species fourteen thousand years ago to a planet that was not endangered. Or we could have artificially sped up their scientific development. I've heard that one of you once did the same for humanity: he tossed an apple to Isaac Newton and indirectly inspired the Principia.

"Or we could have put this entire planet in a time dilation field. No one would have known, neither the Voth nor the other space faring races in this galaxy.

"The only reason the Voth are doomed is because we allowed them to be."

Q released his breadth, exasperated. "Are you finished being a child?"

"A child?" I all but shouted. "Excuse me for caring…"

"You are being a child!" Q rarely lost his temper but he did now. "Did it ever occur to you don't have a right to interfere to this degree?"

"Interfere? You're one to talk. It seems to me that that's all you do: make toys of mortals for your own amusement."

"Yes, I play games with select mortals. I don't decide to go gallivanting across the time stream, and I don't take it upon myself to play with the destinies of entire civilizations. And I certainly don't have the arrogance to claim to know what is best for those other species, and to act for so dismal a goal. We gave you a choice so that you would understand the severity of your actions, but you choose to take away from it the wrong lesson.

"The truth is that it doesn't matter _what_ path you decide. There will always be consequences, and not even we can foresee them all. That's why individual Q do not intervene to the degree that you would wish us to. Only the entire Continuum, acting in unison, has claimed that privilege."

I sulked, "I'm surprised you even care about this civilization. You've never been one to preach responsibility before."

"Normally, I'm not. But I understand the stakes." He looked at me, and his eyes were almost pleading. "Q, if you keep fighting the Continuum on this issue, if you keep pushing us to intervene in the affairs of mortals, the Continuum is going to lash out against you. You wouldn't be the first Q they've found to have taken leave of her senses."

"Really?" I asked, now nervous and more than a bit afraid.

"Q questioned our position on suicide. Just like so many of our more creative thinkers, he sought a way out of the stagnation that has gripped us. His answer was death: to give up immortality."

"What did they do?"

I could tell that this conversation pained him. He had a high regard for this specific Q, and I was opening a wound still raw. But I needed to know, and he needed to tell me.

"They locked him in a comet. There he will remain until he gives up his madness, which I fear will never happen." His lips formed a bitter smile. "Q was always stubborn like that."

My voice was frigid. "That's not right."

"Perhaps. But it doesn't matter: the Q value stability. At the moment, they've given you leeway, but eventually their patience will run out. When that happens, your mother and I won't be able to protect you. Do you understand?"

I nodded. "They're all assholes."

He quirked a smile, but he sounded defeated. "Yes, but there's nothing we can do about it."

I turned back to watch the asteroid approach.

He changed the topic of conversation. "So, back to your choice: have you decided what you're going to do?"

"As much as it pains me to admit it, I have."

He nodded, "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"Good."

Q disappeared, leaving me alone on a doomed planet. The asteroid approached and I did nothing.

The following morning, the asteroid hit and the Voth, along with the other great reptiles of that era, were doomed to extinction. I stayed until the end, and I died amongst them. I felt that it was the least that I could do, all things considering.

And then, after I drew my final breadth as a Voth, I was back in the Continuum, subdued and with so very much to think about.


	6. Epiphany

Ch. 6: Epiphany

To preserve one species, I had to destroy another. Well, if you were to get technical about it, I suppose you could argue that I simply stood aside and let destiny continue unabated. But that excuse rings hollow. I could have stopped the asteroid: I had the power, and the Continuum was willing to let me use it. The Voth were, as a civilization, annihilated because I allowed it to happen.

Because I was given a choice, and because I made it. I chose in favor of humanity: of my own people and, in order to safeguard their later ascendency, I willingly sanctioned the deaths of countless billions.

I was brought back into the Continuum, raw and emotional. I had just seen my home, the city I had lived in for the past twenty years, everyone I knew there, friends and colleagues and mentors, annihilated and I died alongside them. It was quick but, for all of that, it was excruciating.

I remember there were six of us gathered together, waiting for the end to come. We had first met as freshmen in the Academy and we continued to work together on various projects all the way until the end. My five friends surrounded me, looking up towards the sky at that beacon of doom stoic whilst, in the center, I was on my knees, babbling apologies while tears streamed down my face. My friends believed I had lost it, been overwhelmed by my terror. They pitied and sympathized with me, but they didn't understand. Only I knew the truth about what I was apologizing for.

Those words were my benediction, repeated over and over again, as I rocked myself back and forth like a scared child. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

And then, in only a matter of minutes that felt like hours, the asteroid finally hit, and I could sense the overwhelming pain and terror of all my friends as they surrounded me. I could hear the silent screams of an entire planet reverberate through my mind.

And then, blessed silence. My physical form had died and I was back in the Continuum.

I was a wreck. I won't deny it. I had been at ground zero of an extinction event, and I had opened my mind up to all the pain and suffering of that entire planet.

"That was a very stupid thing you did," one of the Q said.

I won't lie: I flinched when he said those words, recoiled like a wild animal. I had just been through one of the most traumatic experiences of my entire life, and upon my return I was faced with cold, uncaring disapproval. Before my experience with Q, when I was naïve and optimistic, I would have probably reacted to the jibe, but those days felt like an eternity ago.

"Perhaps," another of the Q spoke. "But it appears that she has finally learned restraint."

He met my gaze and I could sense a measure of respect. I acknowledged that gesture, and I simultaneously felt a slight sense of disgust to have earned their approval.

"Has she truly?" the first Q asked. "She remains reckless. Worse still was that stunt she pulled at the end. Self flagellation is hardly an act appropriate to a Q."

"I don't know," a third voice joined them. "It's worked pretty well for Q."

All turned towards the newcomer, and my mind recalled Q's words concerning a comet, and a Q who advocated suicide. Her words stunned the others, and I could sense the tensions rise around us.

She looked at me, pointedly ignoring the others. "So, you're the fledgling they threw at Q. It seems to me that you've had quite the experience."

"I have."

Our gazes locked and she nodded. "You don't back down, even when you're clearly in pain. If more Q had your fortitude, we'd be better off as a species. We have it too easy, I'm sure you'll agree."

"Yes."

"You're not a Q of many words, are you? Good. After dealing with _that one_ as long as I have, I could use some quieter company."

"I take it you deal with my mentor often?"

"Too much," she agreed. "He can be a bit of a handful at times."

We shared a brief silence that she broke, "I can tell that you've been through quite the experience, and are still reeling from it."

"I'm not that obvious am I?"

"Unfortunately, you are," she replied. I found my focus once again drawn towards the other Q, silently judging and weighing my every move. The strange newcomer continued undaunted, "They can be quite insensitive, can they not? If you'd like, I think you could use a bit of fresh air, and a moment to find your feet."

I didn't know this new Q, but she didn't seem overly hostile or condemnatory. And, in any case, I found that I really did want to take her up on that offer, if for no other reason than to escape the others.

She smiled as I made my decision and then we left the Continuum, and I followed her back to the material universe, to your Earth, to San Francisco back during the very first days of Starfleet, the both of us taking on human forms as we did so.

The human form she took was slightly shorter than my own, slender and appearing in her thirties, conventionally attractive with a face more striking than beautiful, and dark hair swept up in a messy bun. Her strut exuded confidence. On my own part, I kept to my original form, though aged an additional twenty years. While I cannot say I felt as confident or naturally at ease as my companion, those twenty years had done wonders for my complexion: while at thirty five I remained far, far from a model, it was nice to escape from the gangly creature that I had been in my teenage years.

We pulled into a small cafe, only a block away from an only recently constructed Starfleet Academy. She ordered a glass of wine and I ordered a cup of tea. Darjeeling. Our drinks arrived and we started our conversation.

She coolly looked me over, "I suppose that was the form you wore before you joined us? Aged up a few years of course."

"Yes," I said.

She nodded, "You don't seem to be the most creative amongst us. You can appear in any form you wish, but you choose to stick to the same features you wore in your first life. Tell me, now what do you think that says about you?"

"I suppose Q would say it makes me a dull stick in the mud." I was referring to my tutor of course.

She smiled fondly at that as she took a sip from her glass, "Yes. I suppose he would."

I looked at her and couldn't resist snorting as the thought crossed my mind. "You have feelings for Q, don't you?"

She looked back at me startled, and then she started laughing. "I suppose you could say that our relationship is more complicated than what I would find amongst the others, but I'm afraid you'd misconstrue our history were you to view it through the lens of human mating rituals. I won't deny, though, our minds and personalities share an odd interaction, and over the eons, we have been rather drawn to one another."

"You and Q?" I asked. "Sorry, but you seem somewhat more…"

"Respectable," she finished. "Don't get me wrong, I can be just as much a radical as Q is, but I'd like to think I have more self control. I have no intention of getting myself locked up in a comet."

"So you said before," I answered taking a gulp of my tea. "You really don't get along with that one, do you?"

"Never have," she answered and her eyes were serious. "He's right, in his own way. Our society is stagnating, our race slowly fading into inconsequentiality. He wants to change things too fast, though. Doesn't think enough about the consequences. My Q has the same problem. They don't think enough about the consequences. Idiots the whole lot of them."

She took a drink of wine and then locked gazes with me, all levity gone from her expression. "The Continuum, if they had their way, would break you. Turn you into another cog. We have enough of those already. Hold fast to yourself, and don't let them unmake you."

I nodded, "I never intended to."

She nodded, "Good. Though you can't deny, they shook you up a bit. With that choice they handed you: the Voth or humanity. Given your strong ideals it couldn't have been easy."

I looked down into my tea, refusing to meet her eyes. "The test wasn't fair."

"The Continuum is never fair," she corrected tersely. "They're afraid of you, Q. They don't like the way you think, the way you challenge them. They'll try to break you down, and they'll use any cheap trick in order to do that."

"Why are you helping me now, though?" I asked. "In all my time in the Continuum, I've never so much as spoken a word with you. Why the sudden interest?"

She leaned back in her chair, and took a moment to consider my query. When she answered, she was all business. "I'm not as forward as Q and, to be quite honest, I don't agree with your ideals. You were too headstrong, too radical, too abrasive. I couldn't abide being anywhere near you."

I flinched at her words. The Q tended to be, for all of their flaws, incredibly forthright. In times like this, that quality was far more virtue than vice.

She continued unheeding. "And now you return subdued and filled with doubt. I'll be honest, I can't endorse your ideas, but I respect diversity of opinion, and at the moment that is becoming a bit of a rarity amongst us. The Others have become too focused upon their own gratification. For the Q to have become like that… it's stifling and it's disgraceful."

I smiled wistfully. "I don't know whether to take your words as criticism or compliment."

"Take it as both," she said holding a glass in the air. "In any case, I think it's time we came to our business for the evening, if you'd agree."

I looked at her, surprised. "Business?"

She nodded, "Yes. I would like to show you something. Give you something to think about. Hopefully, it'll give you a new perspective about the decision you've made. The decision you're so intent to punish yourself for."

We went back outside and we continued speaking whilst weaving our way through the crowds. Crowds of humans. It brought a wistful smile to my face, and memories of simpler times.

"You have regrets," she said. "About the Voth."

"Of course," I answered sullenly as I walked beside her.

"You stayed behind to punish yourself for making that choice. For being unable to help them. And you're still punishing yourself. That you destroyed an entire civilization…"

"I DIDN'T DESTROY THEM!" I yelled, and there were more than a few strange looks passed my way from confused bystanders. I was never one for that kind of attention, especially while emotionally wounded, and I instantly deflated. "It wasn't my fault. They made me choose. The test was rigged."

She nodded, "The Continuum has some fault in this. And I suppose I can understand why you would be torn up about the experience. Becoming a Q must have been a tremendous shock for you."

"Don't patronize me."

She smiled thinly and her eyes flashed with something disapproving. "And now you're getting defensive again. Confrontational." It only took a moment for her to regain her composure and for her face to regain that mask of calm indifference. "It is no matter. But do me a favor and look around you. Look up at the sky and at the streets, and tell me what you see."

Humoring her, I glanced around me, at the crowds of people all around us, going about their daily lives, blissfully unaware of how close they had come to never having come into existence. Blissfully unaware of the dangers which lurked in the depths of this universe, and every other.

"People," I answered.

She barked with laughter. "People. How obvious. Your heart's not in it. I can see that and honestly, I don't care. Try again: think this time, and be serious. Tell me what you see. Tell me what you feel. And for once, quit playing the stubborn child: it's a role that ill suits you."

I glared at her, and she had the audacity to smirk at me.

I played her game and looked around me.

San Francisco in the year 2114. It was beautiful, and sprawling with activity, and dominated by architecture which, in my home world, could only have been the product of Tinkers. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a starship pass through the skies overhead and then, in an instant, disappear out of sight.

And there were people, so many people.

"You've been so focused on punishing yourself over the Voth that you fail to appreciate those that you saved. Had you relocated that asteroid, none of this would exist.

"If you choose to take responsibility for all the evils you commit, should you not also take responsibility for the good?"

In a flash of light, we were above the planet, gazing down upon the blue and white ball of rock and water. Time moved forward in rapid speed, and I watched humanity progress, centuries laid out before me. I watched the Federation form, and I watched them struggle and I watched them thrive.

"Do you understand?" she asked. She shook her head, "The wound's probably still too raw at this moment, but in time, you'll see things through. In any case, you're not the only Q who's found an interest in humanity. I've heard Q's started tormenting some Starfleet Captain in the twenty fourth century. Not to mention those like your mother. They see something worthy in this species. Do you?"

I nodded.

"Good. Then you shouldn't feel such turmoil over your actions. The only reason any of this exists right now is because of the choice you made. And tell me, were you to go back, and be handed a second chance at it: humanity or the Voth, would you choose the same?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then stop being so mournful about it."

Then she was gone, and I was alone once more on the planet above.

She wasn't the most pleasant personality to be around, and I took issue with some of what she said, but in her own way she was right. I had been too narrow minded.

Q's words echoed in my mind. "There are always consequences," he had told me and, as I watched history unfold below me, at a history that I was responsible for, I found that I understood better what he had said.

The power I hold is a burden as much as a gift, and a responsibility that I had not fully appreciated. Now, I did.

It was a painful lesson, to learn just how naive I had been, to think that I could fix everything and help everyone. I was too powerful now to maintain that innocence, and I could not continue to act with that same reckless abandon. The stakes were too high.

I won't lie: I was still grieving and I still felt that guilt. I still feel that guilt to this very day, and it has been compounded by countless other terrible decisions I've forced myself to make. But, at the same time, looking down on this planet, watching it progress and eventually come to shape the affairs of an entire Quadrant, for the first time I felt some satisfaction for what I had done.

I thought back to the Continuum, to all those other Q who had such power and refused to act, and I resolved to never allow myself to be jaded as they were. I would shoulder the burden of my powers, embrace it even, and take up the responsibility such power demands.

And I resolved to never again wallow in self pity.


	7. Respite

Ch. 7: Respite

That conversation which began in San Francisco, and the epiphany it provoked, was a watershed in my life: it was the first moment I came face to face with my own naivety, it was the moment that I realized just how vast was the responsibility nigh-omnipotence entailed, and, in the wake of all that, it was the moment in which I swore to myself that I would carry those burdens and prove myself worthy of my abilities.

However, as important as that initial realization was, the true impact of those promises would only be felt later. It was still too soon and I was still too wounded, too raw, and too vulnerable.

Back then, as I floated above that planet and made those vows, my determination proved a fleeting thing, and the words rang hollow in my heart. As soon as I had made them, it seemed that I could feel the doubts begin once more to gnaw.

What if I failed? I had lived fifteen years as a human, and my time amongst the Q had not in truth seemed all that much longer. But the span that loomed before me... What would Taylor Hebert become in one million years, or in one billion? Would those countless eons gradually strip everything human away, leaving something unrecognizable: something jaded, cynical and bereft of purpose? Something Q?

I won't lie: I wasn't in my right mind to begin with. From my perspective, it had only been hours earlier that I had watched an entire civilization get annihilated, and I had died amongst them. I was still struggling to come to terms with that failure, and I remained wracked by guilt, and by sorrow. I could still hear the death screams of countless billions echo clearly in my mind, and while seeing the genesis of Starfleet had brought me some measure of satisfaction, and although Q's words allowed me to rationalize my actions, such things did little to allay my anguish.

A small part of me wanted, more than anything else, to become human again. To forget all about this power, and all about the Voth. To forget what it means to look upon the face of eternity, and just go back to being _normal_.

And another part of me raged at myself: after fourteen years of insignificance, bullied and abused – for once, I had the power to enact change. Real, meaningful change, and on a truly cosmic stage no less. And I was recoiling from that opportunity, because it might necessitate getting my hands dirty.

It was laughable. Only moments before, I had made a promise to myself that I would give up self pity, and here I was, once again drenched in it. I felt pathetic, and I felt ashamed, and I felt as if I was drowning in those emotions. More than anything else, though, I wanted not to be alone. I couldn't…

And then, a presence appeared beside me, comfortable and familiar, wearing the same shape she had worn before the car crash killed Annette Hebert. And in that same moment, I was no longer a thirty five year old Taylor Hebert, but once again my ten year old self, eyes large and teeming with tears.

Orbiting above the Earth, a child cried into the arms of her mother.

* * *

I don't know how long I cried, babbling my frustrations about my new existence, raging at the stupidity of the Others and the unfairness of that entire situation, about the crimes they had forced upon my conscience, and all the while my mother held me and whispered soothingly into my hair. But when I had finally calmed down, with my hair disheveled and my face wet, I found that my burdens already felt lighter than they had only minutes before. More importantly, though, I realized that I didn't need to carry that weight on my own.

It's funny what wonders small bits of catharsis can bring.

She was silent for a moment, and then she said, "You've been through quite the ordeal. But, between the two of us, I think you'll recover."

"I hope so," I answered quietly.

She gave me a sad, gentle smile. "I know it hurts now but, in time, that pain will fade."

"But it will never go away entirely, will it?" I said.

She looked at me, and there was something profound and measuring in her gaze. "No, I don't suppose it will. But if you could so easily forget the annihilation of an entire species, would that make you any different from the others?"

There wasn't anything I could say to that.

We silently took a moment to behold the Earth beneath us, and the passing of starships into warp. It was a beautiful sight, and I took a moment to tell her that.

"Yes," my mother agreed. "Humans have certainly come a long ways, haven't they? Quite impressive, how fast they've advanced. And they'll go even farther, in the centuries to come."

She turned to face me, "Seeing sights like this: it almost makes the pain worthwhile doesn't it?"

"Perhaps," I muttered rebelliously. "Sometimes, though, sometimes I just wish I were normal again."

"No. You don't," my mother said. "What you truly desire, and, if we are to be honest, what you truly need right now is a respite. A chance to escape from the burdens of our power and the expectations that have been placed upon you. To be Taylor once more, rather than Q."

I looked at her and she was beaming. "And why shouldn't you? I think you've earned a bit of a vacation, and I believe it's time you saw for yourself that we're not all of us so bad."

She had her hand outstretched to me. "I'd like to introduce you to a few dear friends of mine. And, while we're at it, maybe we can forge some new memories, more pleasant than the ones you currently harbor."

Had it been anyone else making this offer I would have hesitated, perhaps even refused, but this was my mother, and she was offering something I desperately wanted, and deep down, recognized that I needed: a chance to step away, and get my head back together again. Besides, if there was anyone in the multi-verse I could trust to help me do that, it was her.

I took her hand and, in a flash of light, we vanished.

And in that same moment, we cut a path through space-time and emerged in… Kansas. My mother appeared as she had just days before her accident, and I was no longer a child but a teenager once again, a few years older than I had been when I had been stuck in that locker, before I became Q. We stood side by side in a deserted alleyway, in the shadow of those vast crystalline superstructures of twenty fourth century engineering.

Had it been Brockton Bay, those shadows would have been threatening, and the buildings would have been blocky, probably dilapidated (with boarded up windows, rusted metal and the occasional smell of mold and rot), while the alley itself would have been strewn with broken bottles and scattered refuse and, in the worst of neighborhoods, used syringes. This place, on the other hand, was clean. There was not even the slightest sign of littering, and the buildings which towered above us showed not the subtlest sign of disrepair. Everything about this place spoke towards the highest standards of upkeep.

We headed out of the alleyway into the busy streets beyond.

"Topeka, in the year 2347," my mother said. "Not quite what you were expecting, is it?"

I shook my head, and side by side we walked through those streets, as my eyes drank in every detail of my surroundings: every passerby, every building, every encounter and rendezvous that caught my eye. It was a fascinating vista, and it provided a welcome distraction from less pleasant trains of thought.

In one sense, take away that distinctly twenty fourth century architecture, marked by a streamlined elegance that twentieth century technology couldn't even aspire to, and it was very much like coming home. All around me, I could see countless people hustling about, their attention squared entirely upon their own lives, and for all that my mother and I were Q, to them we were just two more faces in that crowd, anonymous, overlooked and forgotten before the end of the day.

I still spotted the occasional argument between strangers, although these confrontations admittedly tended to be more polite in tone than the sort of disagreements I was accustomed to in Brockton, and I still caught glimpses of affection: of families hustling through the streets, or of couples walking hand in hand. Even though three hundred years separated this time from that alternate Earth I had been born and raised in, there was much about this scene that remained familiar. Even after three hundred years, people remained people, and that observation made me smile a little.

And in other ways, this Topeka was a world distinctly alien. I saw it every time I spotted within that sea of humanity a Vulcan, a Rigelian, an Andorian, or any number of the countless extraterrestrial species that made up this United Federation of Planets. I saw it every time I saw a starship pass by in the skies overhead, and every time I spotted a replicator in a café window. I saw it in the architecture and the clothing, and I was reminded of it every moment I heard news of the Romulans, the Cardassians and the Klingons bandied about just as we once spoke about foreign countries and prominent capes. For all that I could say that people remained people, there remained over three hundred years separating the world of my youth from the world I walked in now. And that, also, was impossible to ignore.

I heard the smile in my mother's voice beside me, "Is this normal enough for you?"

"Coming from Brockton Bay, I suppose I'd have had a warped sense of normality anyway."

She nodded, "Fair enough."

We continued walking until we finally reached a small apartment complex and, as soon as we approached the doors, they swished open, and a young couple, by all appearances in their mid-twenties, came to greet us.

"Q," the woman greeted, fidgeting with a restless energy I had seen before. She embraced my mother and kissed her once on each cheek. "And you must be Q. Come in, come in, and be welcome."

My mother smiled, "Considering where we are, perhaps you should refer to us by human names. Mine is Annette and this is Taylor. If nothing else, I figure it would make for useful practice."

The woman laughed, though her face flushed with some small embarrassment. "Of course. We've only just gotten started with this you understand."

My mother nodded, "An understandable mistake. I suppose you'd have already chosen human names for yourselves?"

The man smiled. "It would have been difficult if we hadn't. Edward Rogers, and this is my fiancé, Alyssa. We'll be getting married in the spring."

My mother nodded as we entered into the building and took a short walk to their rooms. Again, the doors opened automatically, and we entered a more private setting. The rooms were modest, without much luxuries or furnishings – they could almost be called Spartan in fact. This was the kind of home that belonged to a couple just starting out their lives together.

"It's not the most impressive of places I'll admit," Alyssa said as we all entered. "But it's home."

My mother nodded as we got settled, "It's nice to see you once again. I suppose it should be fascinating to compare notes once this is all over. I'll be honest, my own taste of humanity came in a very different place and time."

Alyssa visibly shuddered. "Yes. I know a bit about that world myself. Not the most pleasant of places, was it?"

"Indeed," my mother agreed. "But it wasn't all bad. I wouldn't have had Taylor otherwise."

Alyssa smiled, "It's nice to meet you, Taylor. It's a shame we couldn't meet before. How are you getting along with the others?"

"Not that well," I admitted.

Edward laughed warmly, "They can be more than a little frustrating, can't they?"

I nodded, and turned my attention towards my mother's continuing conversation with Alyssa. "So," she said. "How are you adjusting to living within a more strictly linear mode of existence?"

"It's frustrating," the other woman replied. "Half the time, I think I'd rather just skip all this day to day nonsense. It can get so tedious at times. Just jump straight to the wedding."

"And that would be cheating," Edward chided gently.

"I can relate," my mother said. "I felt the same way at times. Just be thankful you didn't start with childhood and then have to plow through adolescence. If you want to talk about frustrations…"

I could relate to that as well. There were plenty of times I wish I could have magically skipped past altogether. That ability certainly would have made my time at Winslow more bearable.

I felt a hand settle on my shoulder and looked up to find Edward Rogers looking down at me, and in his eyes I saw a kind of warmth I was inexperienced to seeing from a Q.

"I take it you didn't have the happiest experience growing up?" he asked.

"No," I said. "And in some ways, it's only gotten worse since then."

"I'm sorry. Would you like to talk about it?"

I hesitated. It was rare that I had met any adults who actually cared what I had to say, human or Q, and I could see that he meant it. But there were some things I wasn't ready to open up about. At least not to a stranger.

"No," I said. "But thank you for asking."

He smiled sadly and nodded. "I can't quite relate to what you must be going through, but the Q have never been particularly tolerant of outsiders. You'd hardly be the first Q to run afoul of them, nor will you be the last. Do keep in mind though: we're not all quite so bad."

As he spoke, his gaze held something serious and heavy and I nodded agreement. As soon as I did, he relaxed and smiled at me, before joining his fiancé.

"So, do you have any interesting news from the Continuum?" he asked my mother. "Since we took on human form, we've been a little bit out of the loop."

I settled into a chair, watching and listening, as they chatted back and forth for much of the next hour. My mother spoke of the latest happenings in the Continuum, while Alyssa spoke enthusiastically about her own initial observations of Earth, while her future husband interjected on occasion.

"It's just so fascinating," Alyssa said at one point. "I mean, watching from a distance, seeing how fast they develop as a society and evolve as a species… that's one thing, but to actually live among them, interact with them on this level. Living as one of them though: I haven't felt so young in ages… Sometimes, I wish we'd thought of this ages ago."

My mother nodded, "They are a lively bunch, aren't they?"

"Oh yes," Alyssa replied. "I heard you actually married one of them, didn't you? What was that like?"

My mother paused, "Daniel was interesting. He had a bit of a temper at times, but he was a good man, and it was a good life." She looked at me, and I read a look of guilt and sorrow in her eyes. "I still wish it could have ended differently."

"I'm sorry," she said, glancing between both of us. "For both of you."

We settled into an uncomfortable silence, as if none of us knew quite what to say. My mother leaned back and broke the tension, "I don't know if you've heard, limiting yourselves to a single place and time, but Q's also taken up a bit of a fascination for humanity."

I stared at her in disbelief, thinking back to my mentor, and all I knew about him. The one who, more than all of us, liked to play tricks and games, and treated all of existence as one giant diversion.

"You're fucking kidding me," I blurted out, to which I received from my mother a raised eyebrow. I blushed at my outburst: she never was a fan of strong language.

Alyssa smirked, "I suppose there must be some interesting stories there."

"Yes," my mother said. "Supposedly he put a Starfleet Captain on trial for the collective crimes of the human species, if you'll believe. Seventeen years from now, actually."

Alyssa almost did a spit take, and I was rendered speechless. Seriously?

"Believe it or not, I got into contact with him recently," my mother continued. "In his own way, I suppose he's just as impressed as the rest of us are. He thinks that, with our shared interest in humanity, we may have been onto something after all."

"Great," I muttered, weaving terrible fantasies in my head about what horrors the lunatic would unleash next.

"I suppose Q's not particularly happy about this latest development," Edward pointed out, referring to Q's long suffering partner. "Think she can rein him in?"

"I doubt it," my mother admitted. "You know the way Q gets, especially when he gets excited by something. And he's really enthusiastic this time. Even by his standards."

Alyssa smirked, "Well, I suppose at the very least we've some interesting times to look forward to."

That was certainly one way to put it.

* * *

That was my first encounter with Edward and Alyssa Rogers, but it was not the last. My mother and I were guests at their wedding, a small, private ceremony to which only their closest friends on Earth had been invited. We made several return visits over the year, but particularly memorable were the ones in 2351, where we found Alyssa, giddy with excitement, pregnant with a baby girl. She gave birth later that year, and I remember clearly those earliest moments as I stood over the baby's crib, making faces at the infant, awed to find, even then, a spark of intelligence not normal in a human child so young – little Amanda Rogers had actually been aware of her own surroundings and of me, and I could see that her mind had already developed years beyond where a weeks old baby should be. I briefly wondered whether I had been similar at that age.

Those visits tended to be warm and happy times, but they were spread out, within an endless string of brief diversions. We traveled widely, carving a path across space and time, and I will admit things got at times somewhat self indulgent. My mother characterized it as a vacation after all, and one of our earliest stops was, believe it or not, Risa.

The Federation's pleasure planet was stunningly beautiful, with its crystal sky and endless beaches, its locals were open, friendly and extremely welcoming, and my mother and I spent near a week there pretending to be human tourists.

I spent much of that time playing a young twenty-something, and I resolutely endeavored to just enjoy myself, to not spend even a moment of my time there thinking of the Voth. I'll admit that it wasn't an easy task at first, but I was on Risa, and that meant there were plenty of small diversions and entertainments with which to occupy myself, and that there was excellent company in which to share them. And by our last day there, I was enjoying almost every moment I spent on that resort planet – every moment I was able to pretend that I was just a normal human being once more.

And we made a stopover at the Deltived Asteroid Belt, still several thousand light years removed from the Deltived System, and wasn't that an extraordinary sight? I stared at that little bit of incompetence in stupefied disbelief, trying to discern which detail was more inexplicable: the fact that one of the Q had actually managed to lose an entire asteroid belt, or the fact that not one among the rest of us had ever bothered to put it back.

But in all fairness, our vacation across the stars should not be viewed as a series of trivial amusements. They served more productive ends as well. I met other Q from the Continuum: Q who, like us, were restless and at odds with the Continuum; who enjoyed escaping into the Material Universe, existing in one physical form or another, and Q who were disinclined to judge me, to criticize the lingering vestiges of my humanity.

And I was introduced to some of the other highly evolved species that frequented the Milky Way Galaxy, and which held perspectives that diverged sharply from the Continuum's. In the fabric of that universe's subspace, we encountered the Prophets, who perceived eternity as a single endless moment. Their existence freed them entirely from the constraints of a linear existence, and left them as something both infinite and ephemeral. I met the Thasians whose society was rigid like the Continuum, but coupled that harshness with a sense of responsibility so many of my own kind lacked. And I met a select few members of the Douwd, who used their abilities to interact more closely and more positively with mortal life than any of the rest of us, often spending entire lifetimes with their true natures hidden in secret. Those I encountered worked as doctors and as educators and as engineers, and each of them was held in high esteem by the communities in which they lived.

We spent near a decade running rampant across the galaxy, and every day brought with it some new excitement for me to focus upon, and with each distraction that was thrown my way, I found it easier to push away the memories of the Voth, to focus exclusively on that present.

And by the end of that span, I found that those old traumas and fears no longer weighed so heavily upon my mind. To be clear, I had not forgotten the Voth, and I did not forget my own powerlessness in the face of their annihilation, but with the advantage of distance, those memories no longer tormented me to the extent they once did. The old pains had instead faded into something more manageable, something I could deal with.

I could look back on that day, on the decision I had made, and I could now accept that I had made the best out of an impossible situation: even if my choice hadn't been the ideal solution, it was the _only_ responsible one that had been available to me. And I found that now, at least, I could live with having made that decision.

And, I believed that, were I placed in a similar situation once more, I would be willing to make it once again.

I had regained my equilibrium.

I was finally ready to stop running and start fighting again, to accept the burdens and responsibilities that came with my powers, to make a difference within a cold and uncaring multi-verse.

I was ready to face down the Continuum itself if I had to.

But I was not at all ready for what happened next.


	8. Tribunal

Ch. 8: Tribunal

* * *

I spent another decade within your universe, visiting countless planets and immersing myself within innumerable cultures, trying to figure out my next step. I had regained my sense of purpose, but there was still so much I didn't know or understand, and I was uncertain about how best to proceed. But I was prepared to advance slowly, and to learn as much as I could about the people who lived here, and whose lives my actions would one day effect.

I was standing in a marketplace when I first felt it and, to be honest, it was so painful that I nearly collapsed in the street. It sounded like screaming in my head, and I shut my eyes and grit my teeth and tried to make sense of that sensation.

I could feel my mind being slowly pulled away from my body, dragged by a force even stronger than myself. And behind it, I could sense the others, the collective might of the Continuum itself, calling me back, insisting that I return. That all Q return.

And then I was torn away from space and time, from the universe itself, and brought back once more amongst my peers; brought back into that vast nexus of thought and sensation and communication.

There were thousands of us here already, and I could sense still more Q joining the Continuum. Tens of thousands of conversations passed my awareness every pico-second, so many that keeping track of them all taxed even my mind, and those conversations seemed so much more heated than they had been the last time I was here. I heard rational debate, and irrational quarreling, and small signs of anxiety transforming into hysteria. I could already sense that our usual equilibrium was beginning to fracture.

It was disorienting at first, as I tried to read into the arguments. Something had happened. It must have been momentous, for I could tell that practically all the Q had gathered here, and that was a rare occurrence. There were only three of us missing: the Q who had trained me, and the two Q who had recently taken human form.

This was to be a trial and a sentencing. Three Q had overstepped their bounds and brought disharmony amongst the Q, and for that they needed to be judged. Could they still contribute something useful to the Continuum, or had their voices become too discordant? Were they still worthy of being called Q and, if they weren't, what was to be done with them?

I dived into the memories of the others, trying to make sense of what had brought the Q to this point, to discern just what their _crimes_ had been, and what I found…

I looked into that collective memory, and saw, in Alyssa and Edward, Q who had the audacity to _help_ people. They used their powers hesitantly (as if unsure of themselves) and in subtle ways, curing a friend of Irumodic Syndrome, or intervening when a young excited mother to be they knew was about to miscarriage. And, even after the Q had told them to cease those efforts, they continued to help, to use the powers of the Q to ease the suffering of their friends and colleagues, and strangers they never met. And now, for that, they were to be punished.

As for Q, I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised to find him brought before a tribunal eventually. I think it common enough knowledge that he's left a trail of chaos across your universe, as well as a few others, and he's enjoyed every moment of it. But it wasn't for his pranks that he was censured, or his cruelty.

I'm sure Starfleet has kept meticulous records of Q's interactions with Jean Luc Picard and the USS Enterprise, and I'm sure we can agree he tends to come off from it looking quite dismal. For fuck's sake, on their first encounter, he put your entire species on trial. Not to mention that incident with the Borg. You can't deny it, he's an ass.

However, for all of that, something about humanity impressed him, just as it impressed my mother so long ago. So much so that he offered your own William Riker the abilities of the Q, a move that was unsanctioned by the Continuum. Not long after that, and still under the harshest of censure, he returned to the Enterprise, with a request to join their crew. Trust me, while it may have appeared a jest, he wanted it badly.

And now three Q were facing the judgment of the Others, for the crime of empathizing with humanity, and for acting upon those emotions. For feeling compassion, or the first vague stirrings of friendship. For seeing in your species something valuable, and something admirable.

Up until this point, I had been at odds with the Q, struggling against their precepts, or trying my best to forget they existed. Now, for the first time, I found that I truly hated them.

And I watched the Continuum begin to dissolve into factions, each trying to push its own opinions and observations. I watched as my mother, and the Q I had met in San Francisco, called for the procedures and precepts to be amended, whilst other Q demanded that the trial be called off entirely. There were many more who supported the convocation, but suggested mercy when sentencing. There was more than a small minority who were disturbed to be forced to pass judgment here, on friends and colleagues, and only wished to evade the responsibility.

And then there were the ones who had called this convocation in the first place, and I recognized them. They were the same Q who had, when I first emerged from the locker, called for my execution. And now, after what had seemed like an eternity, they were calling for another execution, and for many of the same reasons.

"Q AND Q AND Q HAVE BEEN TAINTED," those voices said and theirs were the only voices that sounded in unison. The Continuum had lost its cohesion. What had once been resembled polite discourse had been transformed into rancorous discord. And still they pressed on.

And as they spoke, I could sense their regard upon me, and upon my mother, and upon so many of the other Q who pushed the boundaries of accepted decorum.

"THEY ASSOCIATE WITH MORTALS."

"AND SO THEY HAVE FORESAKEN WHAT IT MEANS TO BE Q."

Those words sparked something, and the Continuum recoiled as one. I could sense revulsion emanating from thousands of Q and, in that instant the Q stopped arguing amongst themselves. As one, they targeted that source of unity, jeering and mocking and trying to silence the argument before it gained traction. But still, the voices for prosecution rang out above the din, too confident and strong to be silenced.

"THEY ACT, BUT THEY DO NOT APPRECIATE THE CONSEQUENCES OF THEIR ACTIONS."

"FOR TOO LONG, Q HAS GONE UNCENSURED. HE PUSHES BOUNDARIES BEST LEFT UNTESTED, AND HE REVELS IN IT. AND NOW HE'S GONE TOO FAR."

"INTRODUCING A HUMAN TO THE COLLECTIVE."

"AND THEN, WHILE STILL UNDER CENSURE, RETURNING TO THE HUMANS ONCE MORE."

"OFFERING THEM HIS KNOWLEDGE AND HIS AID."

"HE HOLDS TOO MUCH AFFECTION FOR THE HUMANS."

"TAINTED BY SENTIMENT, HE WOULD PREFER ASSOCIATING WITH THEM."

"HE HAS BEEN COMPROMISED, AND CAN NO LONGER THINK REASONABLY."

"HE HAS LONG BEEN BEREFT OF REASON."

I felt like screaming as those voices continued their litany, pushing the agenda even as the Continuum tore itself apart all around them.

"TOO LONG HAS HE BEEN FORGIVEN, HIS TRANSGRESSIONS OVERLOOKED."

"HE HAS LONG BEEN A VOICE OF DISSENTION."

"AND NOW HE WOULD DISCARD ALTOGETHER THE DIGNITY OF THE Q."

I tried to object to those arguments, but my voice went unheard. All around me, however, I could sense the tone of the argument begin to shift. Somehow, for some inexplicable reasons, the others were beginning to listen to that bullshit.

"You're all morons," I whispered, and watched as the prosecution pushed on.

"HE MUST BE CAST AWAY, LEFT AMONGST THE MORTALS HE HAS COME TO MISTAKENLY ADMIRE."

"HE MUST BE STRIPPED OF THE POWER OF THE Q, UNTIL HE HAS LEARNED SOME HUMILITY."

"UNTIL HE HAS SHOWN THAT HE CAN BE OBEDIENT. RESPECTFUL."

"And what of the other two?" I heard another voice intrude upon the conversation, and, unlike mine, this one caught the attention of the others. "We can't deny that Q has long been a thorn in our side, but Q and Q have always been respected."

I heard my mother chime in, "The Continuum itself approved their expedition amongst humans. If you would claim them tainted by humanity, then surely the Continuum holds some culpability in that as well."

Slowly, I found a faction forming around the two dissenters, and a more coherent counter-argument beginning to take shape.

"Q and Q and Q have sought to expand the knowledge base of the Continuum. They would bring new perspectives to a conversation long arid."

"It is a task worthy of a Q."

"THEY HAVE BETRAYED THE WILL OF THE CONTINUUM."

"THE WERE TOLD TO DESIST."

"TO STOP INTERVENING IN MORTAL AFFAIRS."

"THEY DID NOT."

"THEY KNOWINGLY OPPOSED THE WILL OF THE Q. SET THEMSELVES ABOVE THE WILL OF THE COLLECTIVE."

"THEIR ACTIONS HAVE BROUGHT GRAVE IMBALANCE, EVEN BEYOND Q'S. FOR THIS, THERE MUST BE RECIPROCITY."

The next words silenced the entire Continuum.

"FOR THIS, EXECUTION IS WARRENTED."

"You can't be serious!" I exclaimed, and found the entire Continuum's attention upon me. And for once I didn't even notice their regard. Angry and overwhelmed, I vented. And they heard.

"You fucking hypocrites!"

"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND…"

"No, don't you fucking cut me off you goddamned assholes," I answered. "Seriously, you expect anyone to believe this bullshit? Claiming to safeguard the sanctity of the Continuum, or some such crap… This little power play of yours has brought a hell of a lot more disturbance to the Continuum than Q ever did.

"So what if Q and Q used their powers to help a few people? What the fuck gives you the right to execute them for it? Recall them if you're so concerned, end this little experiment if it's gone off the rails, but you don't murder someone for acting decent."

I felt the eyes of the entire Continuum upon me and, my rage spent, I deflated under that gaze.

"BEHOLD THE INFLUENCE OF HUMANITY."

"SHE DOES NOT UNDERSTAND OUR WAYS."

"SHE HOLDS US IN CONTEMPT."

"AS DO Q AND Q AND Q."

"She's not on trial here," my mother's faction insisted.

"YOU WOULD DEFEND HER."

"YOU WOULD HAVE US SHOW MERCY."

"No," they said. "We would have you call off this tribunal."

"The laws exist to protect the Continuum – to preserve internal stability," I heard a second small coalition insert itself into the conversation, and amongst them I recognized Q's partner. "But if those same laws bring dissolution, they can no longer be called valid."

"It is tradition itself we should put to question."

"THESE STRICTURES HAVE EXISTED FOR AS LONG AS THE CONTINUUM HAS BEEN IN PLACE."

"TO REWRITE THEM IS TO CAST THE ENTIRE EDIFICE IN DOUBT."

"THE LAW MUST NOT BE ALTERRED."

"We wrote those laws once. If we could create them, so too can we discard them."

"YOU WOULD HAVE US RESTRUCTURE THE CONTINUUM ITSELF."

"Yes."

There was a tenuous silence, and I could feel a new sense of disturbance, of anxiety, begin to settle amongst the Q, and I could sense many who had remained unconvinced, and even a few that had even spoken against the tribunal, begin to shift, to join the persecutors.

"YOU WOULD RISK DESTABALIZING ALL."

"You equivocate."

"YOU ADVOCATE DISCORD."

"THE RULES ARE IN PLACE FOR GOOD REASON."

"THEY WERE PUT IN PLACE BY THE COLLECTIVE, AND FOR GOOD REASON."

"THE Q DO NOT MAKE ERRORS."

I only watched as their rebuttal was shouted down by the prosecution, gone unheard as the Others continue to speak, louder and more confident than ever.

"YOU CONFUSE THE ISSUE."

"IT IS NOT OUR PRINCIPALS THAT WE PLACE UNDER QUESTION, BUT THE ACTIONS OF A FEW."

"Q AND Q AND Q HAVE BETRAYED THE PRINCIPALS OF THE Q."

"THEY HAVE COUNTERMANDED THE WILL OF THE CONTINUUM."

"THEY WERE TOLD TO DESIST, AND STILL THEY CONTINUED."

"THEY SHOW NO RESPECT FOR THEIR FELLOW Q."

"AND THERE ARE OTHERS, WHO WOULD HOLD THEIR ATTITUDES AS GOOD EXAMPLES."

"ALREADY THEY HAVE SUPPORTERS, WHO WOULD HAVE US CAST ASIDE OUR LAWS AND TRADITIONS. WHO WOULD PUSH THE CONTINUUM INTO CHAOS."

"THEY WOULD DISSOLVE THE CONTINUUM, WHETHER THEY INTEND TO OR NOT."

I silently watched as, somehow, the other Q were slowly convinced by the insanity the prosecution was spouting. I felt like laughing at the absurdity of the scene. This was justice? This was how so-called superior beings operated?

I felt like crying.

It was small, almost inaudible against the unrelenting force of the prosecution, but I could hear dissention rise once more.

"You would execute Q and Q for threatening the sanctity of the Continuum, but that punishment is itself anathema. You cannot protect our traditions by tarnishing them."

"If you wish to cast Q from the Continuum, strip him of his powers temporarily so that he may learn humility that is acceptable. You can do the same to Q and Q. Let all three share the same punishment, so that they may return to us in their own time."

"THEIR SITUATIONS ARE NOT COMPARABLE."

"Q REMAINS SALVAGABLE."

"CAST HIM AWAY, FORCE HIM TO SUFFER THE HUMAN CONDITION, AND HE WILL RELENT."

"HE WILL LEARN HIS LESSONS."

"Q AND Q REVEL IN HUMANITY. THEY WOULD NOT TAKE THE PUNISHMENT AS IT WAS INTENDED."

"AND SO THE IMBALANCE WOULD REMAIN UNADRESSED."

Already, I could see the Q coming to a decision all around me, and while I could track some pockets of skepticism remaining, a consensus was beginning to be reached.

"THEY CANNOT BE RECONCILIATED."

"AND STRONGER MEASURES MUST BE TAKEN."

I thought of the two Q-turned-humans who lived in a small apartment in Topeka, Kansas, and had a baby together. My mother had introduced us during the darkest time of my life, when I was feeling lost and consumed by self-loathing, and they had been kind. They had welcomed me into their homes and their lives.

And now they were going to be killed.

Because they were kind, and the Q were not.

I looked at the Continuum, as slowly it came to its decisions, and I felt sick. I couldn't handle this anymore. They were actually going through with it.

And two Q were going to die. And I couldn't handle it anymore.

So I fled. Fled the Continuum, and returned blindly to the Material Universe, not even heeding my path.

I returned to my Brockton Bay, to the house I grew up with, on the evening of the day Sophia stuffed me in that locker, and I saw my father once more, a mix of relief, surprise and confusion in his face.

It had only been a matter of hours for him, but for me it had been decades.

"Taylor?" he asked. "Where have you been?"

I stared at him with hollow eyes.

"Taylor," he insisted. "What is it?"

I hugged him and I cried. I clung to him like a lifeline even as, three centuries in the future and a universe away, a man and a woman lost their lives to a tornado. The tears flowed like a deluge.

"Something terrible," I said.

I spent the rest of that evening in Brockton Bay, regaining control over surging emotions. I didn't speak to him about the Q, about the true nature of the multi-verse, of all I had seen and done and regretted and learned since I had ascended. Neither did I use my abilities against the gangs, or the Endbringers, or Zion itself.

I may be many things, but I'm not an idiot. The Others would have stopped me anyway, and I had no interest in becoming the subject of another show-trial.

And that was the gist of it. The Q had grown corrupt on power, blinded by arrogance. And, worse still, they were tyrannical.

I stepped out into Brockton Bay, navigating streets that I hadn't walked in decades. I cut a lackadaisical path through the city of my birth, preoccupied by thoughts and plans for the futures.

Could I change things amongst the Q? I honestly didn't know. The current system was so deeply entrenched, and the Others had proven themselves ruthless in their determination to stamp out any voices for change.

But there were already small fractures in the Continuum: Q who were tired of the status quo, who desired novelty. And as depressing as the Tribunal was, I could not deny that there was one silver lining within that debacle.

I had seen those small fractures intensify. I had seen the Continuum nearly tear itself apart. And if it had done so once, it will one day do so again.

I looked up at the night sky, where an Angelic Giant orbited miles above me. I could wait. I had eternities, after all.

In the meantime I would plan. Make contingencies and contacts. Speak with other Q, those who shared my frustrations with the Continuum, and those who were still undecided.

And I would master my abilities, expand my knowledge and, if necessary, turn myself into a weapon.

In an instant, I flashed out of Brockton Bay, reappearing in the skies above. I took one last moment to look at the city of my birth, record its features and outline for posterity.

And then, in a second flash of light, I left that universe behind.

And I got to work.


	9. Interlude: The Human who once was Q

Interlude: The Human who once was Q

* * *

Once, he had been all knowing and all powerful, and now he was trapped in this prison of flesh and blood and biology, alone and helpless. Even Jean Luc had abandoned him in his hour of need, consigning him to this brig, leaving him isolated and alone behind this force field, without even the most basic of comforts or entertainments to occupy his time. He lay back on the hard, unyielding bed, closed his eyes and willed himself to remember.

The things he'd known, the things he'd seen, the things he'd shared with the Others, back when he was so much more than he was now. Vague memories flashed before in his mind's eye and then were gone with equal swiftness. Small flashes, impressions really, were all that remained of his former life, and even those were deteriorating with time.

Human brains were so woefully inadequate a machine, and even as he strove to remember, he could feel all that he had once been slipping from his memory like grains of sand before the tides.

And here he was, the Q who would be man, trapped in a cell on a single Starship, dressed in such dull and boring clothes. And they were itchy.

He was mortal now. How long would he have left? Forty years, fifty, sixty? And as he aged, his looks would deteriorate. He would grow wrinkly, perhaps even bald. _Bald_.

Yes, he was sure of it. Given another twenty or thirty years, he'd have the same bare cranium as Jean Luc. Granted, the good captain could pull of that look, make it something dignified but still. Ugh.

And then he would die, and all that he had once been would be for nothing. Consigned to oblivion.

"It's not fair, is it?"

His eyes snapped open at the voice which completed his train of thoughts, and he found that he was no longer alone in his cell, though the security officer seemed unaware of the intruder. It was a young girl, perhaps a teenager or a young adult (it could be so difficult to tell with humans), with long dark hair and dark eyes, pale skinned and slim of build, unadorned in nondescript clothing, four centuries out of date. Great. He knew just who his visitor was.

She always did try to hold onto her first human persona. How sentimental.

"It reminds me where I came from," she said, leaning back against the wall, answering his unspoken thought. "Allows me to stay true to myself."

"Yes, yes," he said, pulling himself into a sitting position. "I must say, I didn't expect to get any visitors from back home. And certainly not you, but then again, I suppose I shouldn't be all that surprised to find your presence here. Why, I bet you're just eating this up, aren't you? Come, take a gander at Q, whipping boy of the cosmos, diminished and forgotten and sentenced to a lifetime of tedium and an inevitable death."

The intruder's lips quirked in a small, not unkind, smile.

"You always were a drama queen," she said, with a tone that spoke of long held frustrations, but also some semblance of fond sentimentality. "But no, I'm really not."

"Oh?" Q's gaze focused upon her. "You truly expect me to believe those words. After our past encounters, not to mention your dreadfully tedious shtick about ethics…"

"Yes, you're an ass. Old news," she interrupted him. "But just because we didn't get along, that doesn't mean I wanted… this."

She frowned then, and her eyes seemed to cloud over in remembrance, and with no small amount of pain. "I was there you know."

"I imagine the whole Continuum was," Q snapped. "I bet there were a great many Q who had been waiting a long time for the opportunity to see me disgraced. To get their kicks in, you could say."

He rose from the bed, circling her like some kind of predator. "So, Q. What brings you to my neck of the woods, if not to gloat?"

She smiled sadly. "Since you're human for now, perhaps you would be best served calling me Taylor, rather than Q. And, honestly, you should probably think about finding something more substantive to call yourself than the letter Q."

He looked at her and she met his gaze, and there was a small tension in the air between them, a contest of wills, and then he barked a harsh, mocking, bitter laugh.

"Even in our current state, you're still more human than I!"

"I've had practice," the nigh omnipotent girl said.

"I want no such thing."

She crossed her arms, as a chair flashed into existence beside her, a humble, unassuming creation of wood which would not have looked out of place in that dismal, backwards time she grew up in. She pulled it towards her, and sat down in front of him, cross legged, with her hands in her lap.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

"No."

She looked at him, her gaze measuring, and she frowned. "Bottling this up, becoming bitter and resentful, it's not a healthy way to live."

"Why do you even care?" he asked, as he fought to keep himself from falling to pieces in front of her, fighting back the tears and the anger and the terror. He would not break down. Not here and not now. He schooled his features, took a moment to calm his racing thoughts, and when he spoke next, his words were sullen and whispered. "We were never particularly close."

"No," she said. "We weren't."

"Then why are you here?"

"The Q were wrong," she answered. "What they did. It was perverted and sick and a fucking travesty."

"Preaching to the choir."

"They killed Q and Q."

Those words struck, and were able to break through even his shell of misery and self pity. "What?"

"Yeah, you weren't the only one they screwed over. What the Q are, what they do, what they allow themselves to do." In that moment, as she spoke, her eyes seemed to dim and her shoulders lowered. "In some ways, I envy you. Getting a chance to start anew."

"I don't want your pity," he snapped.

"I wasn't offering it," she answered. "Hell, perhaps my coming here has nothing to do with you. Q can be selfish creatures, and before I was Q, I was human, and the same words can apply to them as well."

She smiled sadly, and in her hand, a glass flashed into existence, filled with a thick, brown liquid which smelled awful. "You know what they say. Misery loves company."

She took the glass, raised it to her lips, and then spat it out just as quickly. She blinked stupidly, and shook her head, coughing as she did so. Finally, once she recovered, she said, "You know, I never got a chance to drink real alcohol back when I was a human. Legal drinking age and all that. I have to say, though, I really don't see the appeal."

In her hand, the glass transformed into a tea cup, and the drink took on a richer hue, as steam now billowed forth. She rose it past her lips, inhaling the aroma, closing her eyes with pleasure, before she brought it to her mouth and drank. Smiling, she set it on the floor beside her. "Mmm. Tea is much better, I have to say."

He leaned back against the wall, crossed his arms, and when he spoke, it was in a conversational tone, though his voice held a twinge of resentment underneath. "That's pretty cruel of you, isn't it? Flaunting all that I've lost, all that's been stripped from me, and to my face no less."

She shrugged, "Payback's a bitch, so they say. You've always been an asshole to everyone else. Hell, even as a human, you're still being an ass."

"You know, I must say, you're skills at providing commiseration… well, I think our dear Lieutenant Worf could take some lessons from you."

"There you go again," she said, her body language deflating. "Always with the sarcasm."

He sat back down on the bed. "Don't you have better things to do than bother little old me? Much as I do love to catch up with old acquaintances."

"To be honest? At the moment, I really can't find it in me to go anywhere near the Continuum. Not after what they did."

"Not even your dear mother?"

"She tried," Taylor admitted. "But as a species, we're so hidebound. So quick to judge and destroy anything that offers an alternative, and after what we've done, to you and to Q and Q, I really can't go back to that. Not now. Not yet."

"It sounds like guilt to me," he said. "Spare me the arrogance. If your mother couldn't convince them, if the other Q were so quick to push us aside…"

"I ran," she interrupted, her hands gripping her knees and her knuckles white. "Seeing what they were about to do, what they were becoming, I just couldn't deal with it anymore. So I ran…

"At the time, I thought it was a form of conscientious objection, but now…"

He sighed, and shook his head. "You wouldn't have changed anything, you know. When the Q manage to get themselves convinced upon a singular course of action… even if you had stayed, and argued, you wouldn't have made any difference in the end."

"I know," she said. "Look, I just wanted you to know, whatever bad blood may be between us, we're not enemies. You may be an ass, at times, but… look, I never wanted this. And you should know, we're not all against you. You still have allies in the Continuum, people who will have your back. No matter how it looks, you're not alone in this."

Then, with a flash of light, she was gone, as was the glass and the chair, and he settled back in his bed, and for a few brief hours, he found that his spirits had temporarily lifted, and eventually, he found his mind surrendering to exhaustion, and he slept.

But Q, even in the best of times, had never been a particularly patient being, and in the coming hours, stressed out and afraid, he found her words little comfort. Were her words to amount to anything more than hollow platitudes, and even if she was honest about them, would it be enough?

When the Q were collectively set upon something, nothing could stop them.

The moon continued its inexorable approach towards the planet below, and, worse still, old enemies had discovered his weakness. A Calamrain had somehow learned of his presence here, and was not afraid to attack the Enterprise if it meant getting to him. Hours passed, and finally, exhausted and sick of being so helpless, Q acted.

He stole a shuttlecraft, went out to meet his enemy, fully prepared for his end.

If he was forced to die, it might as well be on his terms, with some measure of dignity.

And in that moment, he was made a Q again, and in his joy he returned the moon to its orbit, and showed the Enterprise a measure of his gratitude, before he returned home, and found himself surrounded once more by unfriendly faces and hostile intentions. This had been a warning, he soon realized, of what he should expect the next time he stepped out of line. The Continuum would be watching him closely, and next time they would not be so forgiving.

He searched around the Continuum, finding some pockets of support, some scant few friendly faces. _His_ Q, and Taylor's mother were among them. But the Q that had visited him, the one who still insisted on acting so human, was conspicuously absent, and no one knew where she had disappeared to, or what she was up to.

There were some who were concerned about her disappearance, but they were few, and most were content to leave that situation alone for the moment, focusing inwards, healing the rifts which that Tribunal had opened, and restoring homeostasis.

It was a mistake they'd later come to regret.


End file.
